


Much of My Life

by ohthedrarry



Series: DEVIL IN HIS OWN WAY [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Draco Drives A Maserati, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Mutual Pining, Porn With Plot, Post-War, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:14:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 46,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25775686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohthedrarry/pseuds/ohthedrarry
Summary: Two years after Hermione’s first trip to Malfoy Mansion, she and Draco found themselves at a crossroads. Both felt the pressure of their looming 25th birthdays, budding careers, and their strictly physical relationship. A time of reckoning had arrived. Could they truly see themselves in a committed relationship with one another? Or, was it time to leave their carnal relationship in the past where it belonged?
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Series: DEVIL IN HIS OWN WAY [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1866991
Comments: 158
Kudos: 173





	1. Pomegranate Passion Ice Cream

**Author's Note:**

> SEQUEL TO "DEVIL IN HIS OWN WAY" A DRACO MALFOY AS HUGH HEFNER AU. 
> 
> the prequel is filled with nothing but mild kinky sex and draco being an absolute idiot. reading it isn't particularly necessary, but if dom draco being completely blown away by sub hermione is your thing, by all means give the 7 lovely chapters a read and pop back over here. (there is mild hermione/theodore drama garnished on top for some added drama). 
> 
> if that isn't your thing, continue at your own risk. there will be an abundance of everything mentioned above with a light sprinkling of angst and why can't draco just get his shit together. and there will be more than 7 chapters this time.

Hermione drummed her fingers on her desk, staring absentmindedly at the potted plant near the window. It was a typical April afternoon in London; little rays of sunshine peeking through grey clouds. A few droplets remained on the window from the early morning rain, and she imagined herself as one of them. She wondered what it would be like to be a water droplet, barely maintaining its shape, clinging to the glass until gravity became too much. Hermione would willingly slide down to the windowpane, joining other droplets in small clumps that would evaporate with the sunset. 

It was nearing 4 pm, and all she wanted to do was go home and get in the bath. Hermione couldn’t bring herself to concentrate on the files piled up before her. She wasn’t able to pinpoint the exact moment she had essentially stopped working for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Once the giants had been let off with a treaty, the dementors who defected, and those that had guarded Azkaban, were taken to a compound in the Scottish hills where they would be left to eventually (hopefully) disappear. Any remaining Dementors were left alone, as they always had been. Hermione thought that she would go back to her desk on the fourth floor of the Ministry.

And then more cases of Dark witches and wizards using different beings, beasts, and spirits in their plots against good kept flooding the Wizenmagot. Hermione was needed to help navigate the uncharted waters of prosecuting non-human beings post-war, should they have engaged in criminal acts. Almost years had passed, and case files were still landing on her desk. 

Hermione sighed and attempted to crack her back. Tension had been building in her shoulders for several days, and no amount of early morning yoga could ease the ache. It was a habit that she’d picked up from Pansy at the Mansion. Pansy did yoga every morning at nine, and Hermione joined her on the few mornings she found herself waking up in Draco’s bed. Hermione usually did yoga before work, if she managed to wake up in time. But, she never skipped Saturday mornings; paired with a cup of tea, it was the perfect start to a weekend. 

Someone knocked at Hermione’s office door, and she startled in the stiff, leather chair. Quickly smoothing out her hair and trying to look busy, she cleared her throat. 

“It’s open,” she said, staring down at the first file she could get her hands on. Hermione ran her finger across the page, catching her reflection in the scarlet red on her fingernail. 

“Hey,” Harry ducked his head into her office, his hair flopping to the left. Much like Draco, he’d taken to wearing it close to his shoulders. Hermione didn’t think either of them had gotten a proper haircut in years. “Are you busy?” 

“Not if you’re asking,” Hermione said nonchalantly, setting the file down. “Is everything okay?”

Harry closed the door and took a seat facing her. He reached toward her desk, picking up the Time-Turner that McGonagall had given to Hermione. Harry turned it over in his hands a couple of times before returning it. 

“A few of us were thinking about going out for some drinks,” he shrugged, looking around her office. She didn’t know what he was looking for--he was in it nearly every other day. “If you were interested.”

Hermione tried not to frown. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to go, just that she didn’t have the energy. No matter how much she slept, Hermione couldn’t shake the feeling that she was missing something. It had her constantly on edge, wishing for whatever it was to show itself. Hermione could sense a change in the air, and the intensity of it was beginning to take its toll. She hardly had energy for sitting alone in her office and enduring a few meetings, let alone sitting at a bar surrounded by tipsy Aurors. 

“Not tonight, Harry,” she said for about the third time that month. “Perhaps next week?”

Harry pursed his lips and studied her carefully. Years of camaraderie made her easy enough for him to read, and his Auror training had only increased his skill. Hermione didn’t know what he was looking for in her expression. She was sure that she looked tired and worn out; she had seen it that morning when she caught a glance of herself in the mirror. 

“How is Draco?” Harry asked then, leaning back to cross his arms over his chest. 

“He’s well.” 

Hermione’s tone was sharper than she’d meant it to be. She pressed her palms flat against the desk, willing them not to shake. Draco had nothing to do with her exhaustion. In fact, he had little to do with anything anymore. 

“And the magazine?”

“What is it you really want to ask, Harry?” Hermione raised an eyebrow at him. Heat was beginning to rise in her cheeks, and she wished it away. She had forty-five minutes left before she could head home and lock herself away. It was Thursday--Draco was probably out for dinner with a potential investor or business connection. Hermione had no secret plans. 

“How are you?” Harry asked after a moment of silence. “How is he?”

“We’re both fine,” Hermione was bristling. Her affiliation with Draco was none of his concern. In fact, until February, Harry had shown their attachment little attention or care. He partied with Ginny right alongside them every Saturday night, and the couple had even posed for an editorial piece on sex after marriage. “Why do you ask?”

Harry pursed his lips and leaned forward. His expression was serious, which was never a good sign. 

“You’ve been distant,” he started. Hermione could see him choosing his words carefully, not wanting to say the wrong thing. “And I’m worried about you.”

“Ginny doesn’t seem concerned,” Hermione countered. “I find it hard to believe she wouldn’t say anything to me about it.”

“She says you’re just tired.”

“Because I am!” 

It took Hermione a few moments to realize that she’d yelled. Harry’s expression remained the same, save for a barely detectable wince. Hermione took a steadying breath, reminding herself that she only had a half-hour left in her day. Plus, it wasn’t Harry’s fault that she was absolutely miserable.

“I am, Harry. Honestly, I hardly see Draco these days. He has the magazine, and I have all of this,” she gestured about her desk, “to worry about.”

“How does that feel?” Harry was sounding more and more like a therapist that Hermione hadn’t scheduled an appointment with. 

“It feels like it’s none of your business,” Hermione hoped her tone would get the point across. She wasn’t going to discuss Draco with Harry. Not that day, and not the day after. It was none of his concern. “And if that was your only reason for coming into my office, I’m a little offended. And I’m not coming out for drinks.”

Harry closed his eyes for a few moments, pinching the bridge of his nose. When his eyes opened again, they were apologetic. The sight almost made Hermione regret what she had said. Almost. 

“I understand,” Harry stood up, tucking his hands away in his pockets. “Just remember, I’m here for you. We all are.”

The door closed with a soft click. When Hermione closed her eyes, teardrops slipped past her eyelashes. She hadn’t even noticed that she’d begun to cry. After a few deep breaths, Hermione pulled herself up from the chair and reached for her bag. She was being absolutely ridiculous. What kind of woman sat at her desk crying over foolish things like boys and nosy friends? 

Hermione didn’t need to know that people were there for her--she knew that already. She sure as hell didn’t need some kind of intervention _or_ affection from Draco of any kind. What she needed was a warm bath and a glass of wine. Perhaps she’d put on some music while she relaxed beneath a cloud of lavender and mint bubbles. Hermione might even try out one of the all-natural facial scrubs that Pansy had found in America. She’d do anything except sit at a bar, surrounded by drunken idiots. And she’d have a lovely time doing it. 

Clarice was still sitting at the reception desk, shuffling papers around. The blonde was nearly six months pregnant and absolutely glowing. Hermione couldn’t help the pang of jealousy that swept through her at the sight, her eyes immediately finding the massive ring on her left hand. The wedding had been called the “Party of the Decade” by Rita Skeeter. Apparently anyone who was anyone had been in attendance, from the Minister of Magic to Harry Potter himself. 

Hermione wouldn’t know--she most certainly had not been in attendance. If her memory served her correctly, she and Draco had been boating off the coast of Majorca that weekend. Clarice had returned with a husband, and all that Hermione had managed to bring back was a tan. 

“Have a good day!” Clarice smiled innocently at Hermione as she passed the desk. Hermione offered what she hoped was a pleasant smile as she made a beeline for the lift. 

It wasn’t that she didn’t like Clarice. Clarice had never done anything to offend her personally. She was just too perfect--too happy all of the time, and blissfully unaware of the troubles that other people faced. Hermione had always wondered if Clarice was genuinely that happy, or if it was all an act. The evidence suggested that Clarice’s life was simply too perfect to be anything less than unhappy, and that's what Hermione didn’t like. She’d never been given that luxury. 

Hermione waited until the doors of the lift closed to rest her forehead against the marble walls. The stone was cool to the touch, and she welcomed the relief. The walls of the second floor had been closing in on her for days, condensing her into what felt like the tip of a pin. Hermione was unable to breathe until she was stepping out onto the street below, and she wasn’t able to relax until she was closing the door to her flat. Crookshanks meowed at her feet and Hermione let him guide her to his bowl in the kitchen. 

* * *

A grey suit clung to Draco in all of the wrong places. The tie around his neck was suffocating, and he didn’t think he could properly move his arms. Every muscle in his body was screaming for him to grab the check and head back to the mansion where he belonged. Instead, he stayed seated across from an editor for the _Daily_ _Prophet_ and his wife. Draco couldn’t be bothered to remember their names, but his mind was too busy to worry about such mundane things. 

If Draco could secure a permanent column in the  _ Prophet _ , he could start to expand the magazine more easily around Wizarding Britain. While successful, the magazine was still seen as a kind of tabloid or trashy periodical.  _ Disrobed _ needed an air of professionalism for people to see it for what it really was: a  _ lifestyle _ magazine. 

“I must say, Mr. Malfoy,” the man leaned back in his seat, smiling lazily. He lifted the whiskey glass to his lips, maintaining eye contact. Draco found himself wondering how the man got anything past the ghastly mustache on his upper lip. “I am impressed. However, that doesn’t mean I don’t have any reservations.”

“I’m sure that I can put you at ease,” Draco smiled easily at him. He knew the game--it was all smiles and how much money you had to offer. “I promise, the addition of a  _ Disrobed _ column in the  _ Prophet _ could increase sales by as much as thirteen percent by the end of the year.”

“According to your market analyst,” the man raised an eyebrow. “Theodore Nott, is that correct?”

Draco couldn’t stop his smile from faltering slightly. Most days, he could stand the sight of one of his oldest friends. He could forget that Theodore’s hands had once run themselves over Hermione’s skin, exploring every muscle as it flexed beneath his touch. But, every once in a while, the mention of his name was enough to make Draco a little mad. Even though that still wasn’t the proper word for the way the image made him feel. 

“Yes,” Draco fought the urge to reach for his own glass. “He’s been quite the asset. We wouldn’t have sold nearly as many copies without his expertise.”

“And Blaise Zabini, no doubt,” the man nodded. The waitress arrived with the check as if she could sense Draco’s growing unease. Draco was quick to snatch it up before the man had a chance, reaching for his wallet and handing it back. “All promising young men, such as yourself. Tell you what, I’ll speak it over with the wife and let you know by Monday.”

Draco didn’t need to look at the man’s wife to know that the answer was a hard no. She had been suspiciously quiet for most of dinner, which was never a good sign. He really had to start making sure that the wives stayed at home while Draco pitched his magazine. It was a magazine for men after all--not many women would consider the content to be educational or gossip-worthy. 

Ever the perfect host, Draco saw the middle-aged couple to the street and bid them a good evening. Shoving his hands deep in his pockets, Draco decided to take a quick stroll through Wizarding London. Shops were lit up in every direction, brilliant colors attracting witches and wizards to their windows. Draco happened to pass an ice cream shop that was a particular favorite of Hermione’s, and he wondered what she was up to. 

It was Thursday--she was most likely at a pub with Harry Potter and the rest of their crowd. He imagined her sitting on a barstool, cheeks flush with wine, and a soft laugh dancing from her lips. Of each of Hermione’s laughs, her tipsy giggle was by far his favorite. The sound was light and sweet, like candy. A few times, Draco had made her laugh so hard that she cried. Hermione had batted playfully at his arm, shaking her head as she sipped on her wine. She thought that he was absolutely ridiculous when he made her laugh that way, and he loved how charmed she was. Rather, how charmed she had appeared to be. Draco hadn’t seen her for a couple of weeks, too wrapped up in work to ask Pansy to call after her. He hadn’t sent her an owl himself in several months, reverting back to using Pansy as his schedule coordinator. 

Draco came to a stop in front of the pink and teal shop, staring at the flavors on display. Pomegranate Passion was her favorite. Hermione could inhale two scoops of it faster than Draco could fly on a broom. She got a brain freeze every single time and continued to do it anyway. After three brain freezes, Draco stopped feeling bad for her. Instead, he waited for the moment that her nose would scrunch up, and she’d tap her feet on the floor to try and shake off the cold. 

Despite the fact that it was April, Draco knew that if Hermione were there she would beg him to go inside. She’d stare up at him, pouting her bottom lip ever so slightly, and Draco would be marching up to the counter before he’d realize what he was doing. She had that ability--to make him do things without considering the consequences. Such as ordering ice cream while avoiding the chilly spring evening. 

Suddenly, all that Draco wanted to do was see Hermione. He checked the time on his pocket watch; it was nearing 10:30 pm. The shop would be closing, and Hermione would be making her way home as he stood there debating the rest of his evening. Before he could change his mind, Draco swung open the door to the shop with more power than he’d intended. The bell sounded as if it was going to break off. Draco composed himself and ordered two scoops of the Pomegranate Passion to-go. The wizard behind the counter placed a charm around the container to keep it cool before handing it over. 

Two blocks passed before Draco realized that he had no real idea where he was going. Hermione usually visited him at the mansion, or they were traveling together. Draco had only been to her flat three times, and he couldn’t even remember her address. 

Draco pulled a small charm from his jacket pocket. He ducked into an alleyway and pulled the charm to his lips. 

“Pansy,” he whispered, hoping it was loud enough. The charms sometimes struggled to work across long distances. “Pssst. Pansy. If you are asleep I don’t even--”

“Shove off,” came the faint growl that was Pansy’s half-asleep voice. “The bloody hell do you want?”

“What is Hermione’s address?” Draco asked. When a few moments of silence met his ears, he worried that she’d tossed the charm across the room. “Pans?”

“I heard you,” Draco could feel Pansy rolling her eyes at him. “What the hell are you doing? Didn’t you have dinner with an investor tonight?”

“It’s most likely a no-go, I can explain when I see you tomorrow.”

“Are you going to explain this as well, or are we leaving that part out?” Pansy’s tone was deadpan, but Draco knew that there was a sprinkle of amusement somewhere in her statement.

“Depends on how fast you--”

“234 Foxtrot St,” Pansy said. “On the fourth floor. Now, don’t do anything that’ll get you arrested, because I’m going back to sleep.”

“Night, Pans.”

Draco put the charm back into his pocket and closed his eyes, concentrating. He felt the tug behind his belly button first, gravity pulling him into a condensed spiral. Within minutes, he was standing on a somewhat familiar street. He was staring at a row of old, brick apartments. Draco searched for 234, finding the numbers on a house directly in the middle of the block. The light in what he remembered to be her bedroom was on, and he could see movement behind the curtains. 

A breeze made its way down the street, sending Draco’s hair flying in all directions. He realized that he’d been foolish to go to her home, unannounced. And with ice cream, no less. It had to be the whiskey that made him buy the ice cream and ask Pansy for her address. Under no other circumstance would Draco have arrived on her doorstep, unannounced. She most likely wouldn’t even let him in; she’d keep the ice cream and close the door in his face.

Or, maybe she wouldn’t accept the ice cream. Perhaps she’d laugh at him; she’d think him ridiculous then for sure. After all, what would have made him think he had the liberty to do that? 

Despite the fact that they’d gone on many vacations together, they had always been careful to remain hidden from the public eye. At the parties, they danced and let themselves go, but the mansion was a safe haven for anyone to engage in any kind of act that they wanted. Most assumed that their appearances together were little more than sexual play--a way to ease the tension of the workweek. 

Draco had to consider the fact that, for Hermione, that was all it was. A way to blow off steam. Perhaps she fancied him in a familiar way, out of comfort rather than anything else. After all, one can only have sex with a person so many times before they simply grow accustomed to each other’s behavior. Draco knew what she looked like when she was cumming, and when she was dreaming. He particularly enjoyed the way that her eyelashes fluttered as she was about to wake up, not knowing that he’d been watching her for hours. She was beautiful when she wasn’t challenging him. 

Although Draco had to admit, he also liked it when Hermione challenged him.

Ultimately, Draco decided that it was best that he go home. Hermione had invited him over on a few occasions, but he hadn’t been there for several months. Perhaps she preferred it that way; getting to have her own space. Draco didn’t know what was so bad about the mansion--she could have anything she wanted while she was there. All she’d have to do would be ask. 

As Draco was getting ready to apparate home, he remembered the ice cream in his hands. If he brought it back to the mansion, it would sit in the freezer for weeks until one of the house-elves, probably Willy, decided to throw it in the garbage. The front door to the building loomed bright on the other side of the street, and Draco stole one last glance up at Hermione’s window. No movement. 

He nearly tip-toed across the street, gently placing the ice cream to the right of the door. A set of four doorbells decorated the brick to his left, and he pushed the one marked 4. It was louder than he had expected, and Draco quickly ran down the street and around the corner. Without a second glance back, he was letting gravity pull him inward and toward the mansion. He landed in the middle of his bedroom and grabbed out to the dresser to steady himself. Two thoughts raced through his mind. 

One: Draco had to see Hermione again, soon. He didn’t care how, or when, or what the circumstance. 

Two: Pansy was never going to find out about the ice cream. In fact, she was never going to find out that he’d gone to her street at all. Draco would tell her that he’d ended up chickening out just after putting down the charm, and had come right home. 

* * *

Hermione had just finished pulling off her sweatpants when the doorbell rang. Crookshanks hissed, jumping off her bed and running toward the door. Begrudgingly, she pulled the sweats back on. No one knocked on her door, let alone at 11 pm. 

“Are you coming or staying?” she asked Crookshanks, who was pawing at the door. When she opened it, he bolted down the stairs. “I guess you’re coming.”

Hermione smiled as she pulled her door shut and made for the entryway. Crookshanks was breathing on the window by the time she descended the stairs, his nose leaving two wet dots on the glass. 

No one stood on the other end of the door. Hermione stepped out onto the landing, looking down both ends of the street. A couple was walking toward her block from a few streets away, and their laughter was the only sound she could hear. If Crookshanks hadn’t nearly tripped her on her way back inside, Hermione would have missed the container on the ground. She could smell the contents the moment that she picked it up--Pomegranate Passion ice cream. 

Hermione scanned the street one last time before slowly making her way back inside. The gift had Draco written all over it, but she wasn’t sure how. He was the only person who knew that was her favorite ice cream flavor. Harry still believed it to be mint. 

Crookshanks followed Hermione back up to the kitchen, stopping to visit his food bowl while Hermione grabbed a spoon. She sat down at the small wooden table, pulling her left knee up to her chest. A soft smile found its way onto her lips as she dipped her spoon into the container. 

Hermione didn’t know what would possess Draco to do something like that. He’d showed up to her home at nearly 11 pm and left ice cream--her favorite flavor, no less--on her doorstep. Draco hadn’t even waited to hand it off to her or say hello. She would have let him in if he’d asked. 

Without warning, Crookshanks was jumping up onto the table. He sat down in front of her and cocked his head to the side, glancing between her and the ice cream. After a few moments, he let out an irritated meow. 

“I don’t get it either,” Hermione reached up to scratch behind the cat’s ear. He began to purr, nuzzling into her touch. “He doesn’t make any sense, does he?”

Crookshanks meowed again, continuing to press himself into her touch. She indulged him, scratching along his back until he plopped to his side. Crookshanks gave her access to his belly and she scratched along it, the cat purring happily. 

She would owl Draco in the morning before she went to work. Before she second-guessed herself and Draco’s intentions. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so... i'm very excited. idk about you guys. let me know in the comments if you like where this is headed!! the plot will be more important than the porn this time, but i said to myself... why not both? why not torture ourselves? ;)
> 
> thank you so much to everyone who showed "devil in his own way" so much love!! i can only hope that your expectations will be met with "most of my life" :)
> 
> will be updating every friday!!


	2. Lunch on Fridays

Breakfast the following morning felt as if it lasted five years. Draco was seated at the head of the table, with three sets of eyes trained on him the entire time. From down the table, Alice didn’t seem to blink once. For some reason that Draco couldn’t comprehend, she hadn’t left. They hadn’t slept together for nearly two years. In fact, he hadn’t slept with any of the girls since Hermione. None of them seemed interesting, or even sexually appealing. Not that they weren’t attractive. He just didn’t care to see them tied up in his bedroom, or bent over a kitchen counter. 

Pansy was seated to his immediate right, as always. She sent incessant glances in his direction as she shoved food around her plate. Blaise eyed him with a consideration that had become standard. Pansy’s interest in whatever Draco wasn’t saying had drawn his attention. And Theodore was practically bouncing in his seat, willing Draco to start conversation. Fortunately, Theodore had the decency to keep his eyes on his plate and off of Draco’s face.

But, Draco had nothing to talk about. He hadn’t done anything out of the ordinary the night before. He’d gone to dinner with a possible investor, and had gone home. And he never discussed business at breakfast--it was rude. So, therefore, he had nothing to discuss with them. 

There was nothing involving ice cream and snap-second decisions. Hermione hadn’t been involved whatsoever. He didn’t spend the entire night staring up at the ceiling of his bedroom, wondering where exactly he had gone wrong. Draco and Hermione had been--whatever they had been--for nearly two years. Nearly 730 days had passed between them, the time spent soaking up as much of each other as they could. 

And, somewhere along the way, they’d stopped. Draco didn’t know the exact moment when things had changed. One day he just didn’t owl her. And she didn’t owl him. And finally after a few days he’d had Pansy invite her over. She’d arrived, and they’d done what they always did. She’d been gone before he woke up the next morning. That prompted Draco to schedule a trip to Greece, one of her favorite places. They’d gone more than a handful of times. And they barely spoke the entire trip. 

As soon as breakfast was over, Draco made straight for his office. He took the stairs two at a time, itching to get to the safety of the third floor. He stepped into the greeting area, pausing for a moment to catch his breath. Sometimes, Draco hated the fact that so many other people lived in his home. He’d done it out of convenience. Having Blaise, Theodore, and Pansy around made it easier for communication and planning. The girls were part of the image; the lifestyle. After the war, he’d enjoyed filling his new home with beautiful women and mind-blowing parties. Celebrities would come from around Europe, throwing their inhibitions in the trash. 

Draco made his way to his office, not sure how he’d ended up in his current position. What had started out as reckless youth had turned into a growing business. Every waking moment of the previous four years had been invested in building the magazine, and he was succeeding. 

So, why did he feel like absolute shit? Why had it been several weeks since he’d hosted an actual party? And why couldn’t he find it in himself to write to Hermione, or even see her?

No matter. He’d busy himself with work, as usual, and try to bury the uncomfortable sensation that had been building in his chest for weeks. He took a seat at his desk, staring at the load of work in front of him. 

It was Friday, which meant photoshoots were scheduled. Two would be done at the manor, and the other on the coast. At Theodore’s suggestion, _Disrobed_ had made a call in January for erotic fiction to be submitted for publication. The first story to be chosen for May’s issue was a piece which involved sex on a beach with a stranger. Draco wasn’t a particular fan of it, but Pansy had been gushing about it incessantly for weeks. Theodore said it “got the job done,” and Blaise had shrugged. For Blaise, it was “good enough.” 

Draco would have been more upset about the idea of publishing erotic fiction in what was supposed to be a _lifestyle_ magazine, but the numbers didn’t lie. Subscription went up by 6% one week after the publication of the January issue. They had a total of twenty thousand subscriptions, which for a privately funded magazine didn’t seem too bad. 

Theodore’s newest pitch, however, Draco approached with apprehension. They had been hosting a series of interviews with somewhat prominent people, calling it the _Disrobed_ Exclusive. However, taking turns interviewing people and then having to write about them was causing tension. The obvious solution was to gain a contract with a journalist who could do the interviews and write the articles for them.

But why did the interviewer have to be Rita Skeeter?

The thirteen-page proposal sat on Draco’s desk, practically baiting him. He hadn’t told Blaise or Pansy about the prospect. Theodore’s incessant glances at breakfast had told him that the news should get out sooner rather than later. 

“Knock, knock,” Pansy sing-songed as she barged into his office. Draco rolled his eyes at her, leaning back in his chair. “Not to pry, but I assumed you’d be in a better mood.”

Pansy sat down in the chair facing his desk, sorting through documents in her lap. She was humming a tune that Draco didn’t recognize, bobbing her head to the rhythm. 

“Unfortunately, no,” Draco forced a smile onto his face. “But, it’s no issue. I’ll be fine.”

“Oh, really?” Pansy raised an eyebrow at him, holding out an envelope. Draco snatched the letter from her hands, reading Hermione’s purposeful scrawl. 

_Draco,_

_Thank you for the ice cream. I don’t know how, or why, but I know it was you._

_I’ve been missing you. Perhaps we should meet up soon, when you aren’t jetting throughout Europe?_

_Let me know._

_Hermione._

“Please tell me you didn’t read this?” Draco stared down at the paper. Of course she sent him a bloody owl. He didn’t know if he wanted to cheer or throw up. Did she actually miss him? Or did she miss how he made her feel? Did he care?

“I mean, I could have guessed that you would impulsively buy her ice cream, show up at her apartment, chicken out and then leave it on her front porch,” Pansy began to laugh, dapping at the corners of her eyes. She wasn’t even trying to hide her amusement for Draco’s sake. “But, no, I didn’t read it. Archie did.”

Draco dropped the note to the desk, massaging his temples. He’d been back from France for a few days. And he hadn’t even thought to owl her. Or even have Pansy do it. Why hadn’t he? All he’d been able to think about in France was how much Hermione would like a particular winery or cafe. He’d even found a particularly gorgeous villa near the coast for sale. It wasn’t that Draco had considered buying it just to take her there, but he had inquired about the price. He could afford it ten times over and not even realize he’d spent any money. 

Why had Hermione slipped his mind as soon as he got home? Why had she started to slip from him at all?

“Am I a prick?” Draco asked Pansy, keeping his head in his hands. 

“Only ninety-two percent of the time,” Pansy quipped. Draco groaned and pulled himself up to face her. 

“You think I’m being a prick.”

“I think that you and Hermione have spent a significant amount of time together in the last two years,” Pansy said slowly. She sat up straighter in the chair, pulling her paperwork to her chest. “And I think that it’s reasonable for her to be pulling away. After all, she has her own life outside of this mansion.”

Draco tried to think about what Hermione would be doing right then. He knew that she worked for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. But, she’d been doing something else. She’d been bothered by it, that much he remembered. But, that was Hermione always--bothered and righteous. She thought that she knew best, and to see other people muck things up took its toll on her. 

“Should I buy her a vacation home in France?” Draco asked. Pansy scoffed at him, rolling her eyes. 

“You really think that Hermione Granger will be bought by exotic villas and expensive vacations?” Pansy waved him off with a flick of her wrist. “You’re even more hopeless than I thought you were.”

Draco pursed his lips, staring down at his desk. He could buy the vacation house anyway. He didn’t know what else he’d try to win her affections back, but a permanent getaway might be a decent enough bribe. 

“And hence my shitty mood,” Draco sighed before reaching for Theodore’s proposal. He decided it was better to change the subject before Pansy lectured him on how to properly court a woman. He’d never been the proper type when it came to romance--Pansy of all people knew that. “Before the photoshoots today, we have this disaster to deal with.”

He handed the document to Pansy, watching her expression. By the third page, Pansy was shaking her head and groaning. 

“I’m not telling Blaise,” she said, handing it back to him. Pansy stood, handing a few of her papers to him. “We have to leave by four for the coastal shoot. The first one with Lucy Reddington for the flower girl shoot starts in about an hour. I have a meeting at two, but I’ll be back before we take off for the shoot. I’ll send Blaise up.”

Draco thought that was the end of it. He’d hoped, foolishly, that Pansy wouldn’t say another word. 

“Oh,” she turned to face him in the archway, a wry smirk on her face. “I’m not going to owl her back for you. So, you should get on that. Wouldn’t want her accepting a promotion at work and forgetting all about you, or anything like that.”

And with a flick of her hair over her shoulder, Pansy was gone. Did she know something that he didn’t? Draco had known that she and Hermione were close enough. They’d do yoga together in the mornings, and sit by the pool for hours talking in hushed whispers about things that Draco couldn’t begin to imagine. But, Hermione hadn’t been around for weeks. As far as he knew, they had little contact with one another. 

* * *

Pansy was noticeable the moment that she stepped into the cafe. Hermione couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face at the sight of her. Pansy was wearing a cocktail dress in one of the most brilliant shades of purple that Hermione had ever seen. The neckline was moderate, but the fabric came nearly down to the middle of her thighs. A pair of black heels completed the ensemble, and Hermione was briefly enchanted. 

“So good to see you!” Pansy kissed both of Hermione’s cheeks before sitting down at the table. They’d been meeting for Friday lunches for as long as Hermione could remember, and it was one of the few events that she forced herself to have the energy for. 

“I was beginning to go crazy without you!” Hermione smiled in mutual understanding. 

Neither bothered to pick up the menus sitting on the table; they’d ordered the same thing since their first visit. Hermione would get a ham, mozzarella and tomato panini with chips and an iced latte. Pansy, on the other hand, would simply order some toast and another coffee. Draco’s habit of having breakfast at 11am meant Pansy was hungry for very little by 2pm. The cafe closed around three on most days, which meant there were few patrons left by the time that the girls arrived. 

“I know, I hate it when he travels,” Pansy rolled her eyes, shaking out the set of bracelets on her right arm. Her nails were painted in the same shade of purple as her dress. “Makes my life exponentially more chaotic.”

“Well, he is Draco Malfoy,” Hermione half-rolled her eyes. “I’ll go place our orders. Did you want rye or wheat today?”

Pansy pursed her lips as she considered. 

“Rye.”

Hermione placed their order at the counter and came back with their beverages. Pansy always got up to grab the food when it was ready. It was the balance of their friendship that made it easy to navigate. Much easier than Hermione had thought. The pair naturally equaled each other out, bringing an earthiness to the fire that raged inside of her. 

“I know you don’t like it when I talk about him,” Hermione started, staring down at her latte. She stirred the straw slowly, watching the ice clink together. Pansy chuckled. 

“You don’t like to talk about him,” Pansy countered, sipping at her coffee. Pansy was the person who drank hot coffee no matter what the temperature was outside. She would stroll down Diagon Alley at three in the afternoon with a hot cup in her hand, drawing confused stares from anyone who noticed it. “I would happily sit here all day and tell you what I think, about both of you. But, unfortunately, _both of you_ would rather wallow in self-doubt. And that’s okay, it’s just not how I would do things.”

The smile on her face was innocent, but something glinted in Pansy’s emerald green eyes. Hermione didn’t know if it was Pansy’s makeup or her expression that had her eyebrow arched so high. 

“I’m sorry,” Hermione bit at her bottom lip and fidgeted in her seat. “I just feel as if I shouldn’t burden you with how I feel about him. You’re his friend and assistant, and I’m just--”

“First things first, Granger,” Pansy’s face became serious, and she held up a stiff finger to cut Hermione off. Their order was called at the counter and she stopped. “First things first, I will get our lunch. And then I will let you have it.”

And let Hermione have it she did. She started off by explaining that she was Hermione’s friend too, and just because she’d known Draco longer and worked for him didn’t mean she owed him any favors. And, in the same token, just because Hermione was a good and charming person didn’t mean Pansy wouldn’t hex her if she didn’t have to. 

“I mean, honestly, it’s like you guys forget that I’m my own human being!” Pansy ripped a piece of toast in half, aggressively smearing it with jam. “I can show loyalty to two sides without pushing one of them toward or away from the other! I’m not a meddler! That’s Theodore!”

Then, she moved on to lecture Hermione about being afraid to share her feelings. All of Hermione’s feelings were valid, and Pansy was fully capable of supporting her as a friend and someone Pansy cared deeply for. 

“Honestly, if either of you did anything to the other I would fight you just the same!” was quickly followed up with, “And it’s stupid that you don’t feel like you can tell me how you feel. Love is one of the most basic human emotions and if you’re feeling unsure, I am a safe person for you to confide in. No judgment, just support.”

That was succeeded by correction on the word love. Pansy hadn’t been insinuating that Draco and Hermione loved each other. Instead, she was insinuating that both of them were definitely feeling things that they didn’t know how to deal with. And since neither of them would talk to her, she didn’t know how to help them. 

“I just… I’m only getting older, you know?” Hermione picked at the remainder of her sandwich. “I’m not saying I want to marry him or anything crazy like that. It’s just that… All he does is give me things. And I don’t want things. I want a person.”

The expression on Pansy’s face suggested that it wasn’t the first time Pansy had considered Draco’s lack of ability to be romantic. And that was when Hermione remembered that the pair had dated briefly in their youth. She wanted to ask Pansy a million and one questions, but she kept them to herself. Maybe on another lunch she would pester Pansy for all of the details. Hermione wanted to know, first and foremost, if Draco had always been that good in bed; she wanted to know if her late night dreams at Hogwarts could have been met with her current pleasure or mediocrity. 

Instead, Hermione bit her tongue. The two friends continued their lunch in relative ease, changing the topic to things such as the happenings with the magazine and Hermione’s days at the Ministry. Pansy was growing tired of the photoshoots and having to schedule ridiculously bratty models. One of them had thrown a tantrum when the tea that was given to her wasn’t brought in from somewhere in Japan. She’d gotten even more mad when one of the house elves simply took the tea back to the kitchen and returned with the same cup. Of course, Pansy had found it hilarious. Draco, apparently, had chuckled and told the model that if she wanted Japanese tea she could model for a Japanese magazine. 

Pansy supported Hermione with taking on extra responsibility at work, even if the two of them hardly understood what the plans were for Hermione’s future. Hermione was warned not to take on too much at once, for fear of burnout. Allegedly, Hermione was the type of witch to take on more than she could handle and stayed silent when the burden was too much. Thoughts of the war flashed through her mind then, traveling across Britain with an angry Ron and stressed out Harry to take care of. Not to mention the rest of the Wizarding World holding its breath, praying that Hermione succeeded in keeping the Chosen One alive. 

She had hoped that, after the war, things would get easier. Seven years had passed--nearly a decade--and the outcome still appeared surreal. The case files on her desk no longer named Death Eaters but other, more sinister, Dark Witches and Wizards vying for control. The kinds of control varied, from continuing to uphold pureblood ideals to overthrowing the Ministry and bringing about a new era of magic. 

After their plates were cleared, the girls began to gather their things. Hermione had arrived with only her satchell, while Pansy appeared to be carrying half of Malfoy Mansion in her bag. She sorted through file after file, tossing unmarked boxes and notebooks onto the table as she searched for her keys. 

“What’s that?” Hermione reached forward to pick up a small charm. It was in the shape of a greyhound, the metal appearing to glow even in the dim lighting from the cafe. 

“A gift.”

It was unlike Pansy to simply say that something was a gift. If it had been a gift worth anything, she wouldn’t be able to shut up about it. Hermione would know all about where it came from, who gave it to her, and what the occasion was. There may perhaps even be an impressive backstory; some wizard attempting to woo her with a memory from years prior. Instead, Hermione was met with a suddenly tense Pansy who kept glancing between Hermione’s face and the charm. 

“Was it a good gift?” Hermione raised an eyebrow as Pansy quickly slipped the charm back into her bag. 

“It’s useful,” was Pansy’s response. “Now, the more important question--are we on for next Friday?”

Hermione giggled then, bringing the strap of her bag over her shoulder. The girls slid from their seats and began to make their way to the door. 

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Hermione smiled at her friend. They embraced each other in a solid hug, the kind that you could fall into if you weren’t careful. “Good luck with the photoshoot today.”

“I just think they could have done better than Southport in April,” Pansy pretended to shudder at the idea of the beach in springtime. “It’s going to be nothing but wind and cold and Draco complaining the entire time. I’ll need more than luck to come back without a murder charge.”

“I’ll fight for you if the case goes to trial,” Hermione bumped Pansy with her elbow, and the taller girl bumped her back. 

Hermione enjoyed the ease with which she and Pansy had become friends. Their friendship had been like the pool at Malfoy Mansion--Hermione had slipped right in and let herself go, enjoying the feeling of crisp camaraderie slipping up her legs and over her shoulders. 

“I’ll owl you!” Pansy gave Hermione one last nod and then she was apparating away, a brilliant display of black smoke sizzling in the air. Hermione had been immediately drawn to the way that all of them apparated--it was much more chaotic than the simple tug of gravity which pulled Hermione through space and time. 

The Ministry was a few blocks down from the cafe, and Hermione took the walk back at a leisurely pace. She was in absolutely no rush to get back to the pile of work on her desk. After all, it was Friday for Godrick’s sake--how much work was she actually supposed to get done? Hermione spent the last few minutes of her lunch break stopping into one of her favorite shops, Serenely Stationary, which offered Hermione endless shelves of parchment, quills, ink, and a number of other supplies which she needed for her office. In the end, she bought two new quills and a roll of lovely, personalized parchment. She contemplated buying new wax for her Ministry seal, but decided against it. She was impulse shopping, again. 

Hermione returned to the Second Floor of the Ministry to see Harry speaking with Clarice in hushed tones. His eyes snapped up to her face when Hermione stepped off of the lift and he pushed his glasses back up his nose. 

“Hey,” Harry offered her some kind of half-smile. “You’re needed for another tactical meeting this afternoon. They’re thinking about sending us North to Ireland. There are rumors of a small gathering of witches there who have been reported to use dark magic for some kind of ritual.”

Hermione pressed her lips into a thin line and then nodded. She still didn’t quite understand her role in the tactical meetings. She knew little about military strategy--all that Hermione was good for in those situations was guessing the chances of death for each auror on the mission. That, and how the suspected should be treated once they are arrested. 

She quickly made her way to her office, closing the door with her elbow. It snapped into place, the glass windows on either side shaking in their frames. That feeling was eating her up again, starting in her left kidney and working its way toward her throat. Hermione tossed her satchell onto the floor behind her desk and collapsed into the armchair. 

Laid out before her was a stack of paperwork even larger than she remembered it being when she left. On top of the pile was a small envelope bearing the Malfoy seal. The corners of Hermione’s lips twitched at the sight of it, the anxious feeling replaced by one of excitement. He’d gotten her owl--and he’d sent her one of his own. 

_Hermione,_

_I am happy that you enjoyed the ice cream, and that you knew it was from me. I was worried you’d found someone else who knows your affinity for pomegranate and ice cream despite the weather._

_I apologize for my absence in the last few weeks. As you know, I had a business trip to France that couldn’t be avoided. Just give me a time and place, and I’ll be there. As long as I’m able, I’ll show up every time you owl._

_Draco_

Hermione didn’t know how honest that last line was, but she clung to it for sanity. She wanted to believe that he was feeling similarly to her--that it was more than just an after work activity for him. However, Draco wasn’t the best at sharing his feelings, or his personal space. Hermione had spent years learning what she could and could not do, what she could and could not say. 

If Draco Malfoy was anything, he was a paradox. A fire raged inside of him that was so hot it showed blue, and felt icy cold to the touch. He was hellish fire hidden behind glacial ice, and moved at a similar pace to that of roaring lava. And Hermione was, for the time being, happy enough to stand in his path for a little longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY THAT I AM POSTING THIS TWO DAYS LATE.
> 
> the wifi went out at my apartment (the outlet blew), i don't have a breaker box, and my hotspot was shotty. but, the internet is back up and running and i'll be posting an extra update this week to make up for it :)
> 
> as always, feel free to check me out on tumblr @/draqo-pctter for story updates and other hp content!


	3. Brittoli, Italy in August 2003

**AUGUST 2003; Draco’s villa in Brittoli, Italy**

Draco insisted that they made the two-hour drive from Rome to the villa. At first, Hermione had been confused--did he really expect her to drive them? Just because she was a Muggle-born? Was he making fun of her somehow? However, her worried thoughts were put at ease--if not in shock--when Draco set down his luggage next to a silver Maserati and stepped casually into the driver’s seat. As Draco put down the soft-top on the coup, an airport attendant put the luggage in the trunk. Both men stared at Hermione expectantly, waiting for her to hand over her bag. 

The smile on Draco’s lips was maddening. Between the sunglasses, slicked-back hair, and loose-fitted button-up that showed off much of Draco’s chest, Hermione swore she was going to pass out. 

“Come on,” Draco laughed at her. He sounded so young, and free, as any man in his early twenties should. For a moment, Hermione was transfixed in place, trying to remember how she’d gotten so lucky. Draco Malfoy was taking her away for a weekend retreat at his Italian villa, just the two of them and some house-elves. “Archie is waiting for us.”

Correction, some house-elves, and Archie. While Hermione tried to make herself feel uncomfortable and out of place, every muscle in her body was completely at ease. Her mind couldn’t come up with a single negative thought, and her eyes found nothing before her to scrutinize. She had always assumed that Draco would be lost in the Muggle world, shuffling about as if he was on a foreign planet. She’d pictured him clinging to her side for support, put off by all of the Muggle technology and their primitive way of life. Instead, he seemed right at home, as if he made this trip every summer. 

The airport attendant cleared his throat, not wanting to rush her but desiring to be done with them and move on to the next aristocratic couple needing help with luggage. Hermione finally complied, handing over her bag. Once it was put away, the airport attendant walked over to the passenger’s side door and opened it for her, bowing his head as he waited. She nodded her head in thanks, as she was learning most aristocrats did and sat down beside Draco.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Draco turned to Hermione, that smile still taking up most of his cheeks. His blue eyes sparkled in the sunlight, ripples of laughter tumbling through them, and Hermione didn’t know whether to look at them or his lips when they moved. He’d put on chapstick before they’d stepped out into the sun, and she could see it on his lips. Hermione wanted to kiss the chapstick off of him. Draco was using far too many Muggle inventions in too short a time span for her to be okay with it. “But I’m happy that you’re here with me. Usually, I make this trip alone.”

“Leaving Pansy behind to deal with whatever mess you’ve left her?” Hermione raised a playful eyebrow at him. He let out a soft chuckle at her words, leaning close until their foreheads bumped. 

“She can handle it,” Draco’s lips were inches from Hermione’s, and she was overrun with the urge to press them together. His voice and scent were all around her, competing with the noise and smells of gasoline from the airport for her attention. And, as it had for the last few weeks, anything Draco Malfoy was winning the battle. “Now, let’s get you somewhere I can rip your clothes off.”

Hermione closed the space between their lips then, letting both of her hands find their way around his neck and into his hair. She loved that he’d stopped getting haircuts when the war was over. His rich bachelor lifestyle had required that he appear differently in public, and Draco had chosen a rebellious, youthful aesthetic that included shoulder-length hair and loose-fitting clothing if he wore any at all. 

“I’m quite excited to see you drive,” Hermione quipped when they pulled away, settling back into her seat. She put on the seat belt and dropped her own sunglasses to the bridge of her nose, startling a little when the world went from crisp color to slightly orange from the shades. 

“You don’t think the Malfoy Men interacted with Muggles?” Draco placed his hand on the gear shift, putting the car into drive and pulling out onto the road with incredible ease. “Honestly, we’re as old as Britain herself. We didn’t make it this far and get this much money dealing with only Wizards.”

Hermione pursed her lips at the admission, racking her brain for any information on the Malfoy lineage. She came up blank, knowing only Draco’s immediate family and their ties to the Dark Lord. Two generations were hardly enough to draw an accurate portrait of a family line as long as Draco’s, and she realized for the first time that she truly didn’t know the man sitting next to her. They had spent six years on opposite ends of a fight that neither of them had truly understood until they were waging a war. She’d had no opportunity to know him. 

“I’d like to hear more about that sometime,” Hermione replied, turning to stare out at Rome as they began to leave the airport property. Draco turned on the radio and then dropped his hand to her knee, letting his thumb draw lazy circles on her skin. 

“I’ll tell you anything you like,” Draco didn’t look away from the road. Hermione turned then to see how he was working the gear shift. She didn’t know much about cars--if she wasn’t going to own one, why would she spend so much time learning about them?--but she knew that a sports car like that would be a manual gear shift. “It’s charmed. I don’t have time for all of that. I can drive just fine, but having to do all of that extra shifting? No thank you. I’ll leave that to the Muggles.”

Hermione let out a laugh and took off her sandals. Draco moved his hand while she pulled her legs up beneath her, resting her head against the headrest. His hand was placed back on her knee, and she couldn’t help but feel as if she was floating. 

The bustling city gave way to the countryside, and Hermione let herself be carried away with it. At one point, Draco began to softly sing along with a song on the radio. It was Italian and Hermione didn’t recognize it, but Draco knew the words and whispered them to himself in what seemed like perfect Italian. A soft blush crept onto his cheeks when he realized that Hermione had been watching him intently. 

“What?” he asked, shrugging. “I like that song.”

“I liked watching you enjoy it,” Hermione replied honestly. “It’s nice to see you relaxed.”

It wasn’t that Draco didn’t party. In the few months that she’d known him again, they had partied every single weekend. The mansion was filled with rich witches and wizards from all areas of Europe, swaying to the music and enjoying themselves at the pool. Alice and the girls were as friendly with Hermione as ever, pulling her against them on the dancefloor. The look that would come over Draco’s face as he gripped at his whiskey glass would send Hermione flush against Alice’s slightly taller body, wanting him to think about how he’d get back at her later. 

But, when the guests were gone and the magazine was laid out in front of him, Draco was as irritable and difficult to satisfy as any man in his position would be. Hermione had only spent a few weeknights at the mansion, but she could feel the anxiety rippling off him when she’d arrive after work. Her favorite Draco was the one she saw on Friday and Saturday nights; the Draco who was hungry for her and nothing else. 

Sitting beside Draco in the Maserati was closest Hermione had gotten to seeing Draco completely at ease. It was a charming sight to behold. With the countryside backdrop behind him and an easy-going smile on his face, Draco was undeniably handsome. Even the faded Dark Mark on his left forearm seemed less intimidating in the warm sunshine. Admittedly, Hermione had never given the Dark Mark much thought, and Draco had never brought it up. She realized that she wanted to know about that too. 

“The villa in Brittoli is one of the last Malfoy properties,” Draco said. “I’ve been coming here since I was born. I suppose you could call this my happy place.”

“I like the way happy looks on you.”

Hermione didn’t know if it was her place to say those words, but she said them anyway. Draco turned to face her for a moment, and even with the sunglasses, she could feel the softness of his gaze. She could tell that there was something he wanted to say and wondered if he would. Draco took a slight breath and turned back to the road. 

“You’ll see a lot of happy on me this weekend, I’m sure.”

Because it felt right, Hermione lifted his hand from her leg and brought it to her lips. She kissed the back of his hand gently and gave his fingers a soft squeeze before placing it back down. 

* * *

Hermione and Draco arrived at the villa in the early afternoon. Stucco walls met with clay roof tiles and supported a number of simple black windows. The driveway pulled up to the back of the house and a garage door opened at the push of a button on the rearview mirror. Rolling hills spread out before them in every direction, light green grass standing out against the harsh green of the mountains in the distance. Hermione wasn’t surprised that Draco preferred a place that far away from anyone else. 

Archie appeared at the utility door to the left of the garage, wearing the same suit that he always did. He smiled warmly at them, reaching out a hand to shake Draco’s. When it came to Hermione, Archie bowed his head in acknowledgment. 

“Draco, Hermione,” Archie’s brown eyes screamed mischief. “The wards have been put up, and the horses are happy that you’ve arrived. I’ll ensure that your luggage makes it up to your room just fine. There’s a light lunch prepared if you’re interested. Or, if you’d prefer a nap, I understand.”

“You ride horses?” Hermione couldn’t stop herself from asking. Draco rolled his eyes at her as if it should have been obvious.

“Of course,” he said. “Do you?”

“I went on a horse ride once, when my parents and I took a vacation in Scotland,” Hermione shrugged. 

“Well, if you want we can go for a ride tomorrow.”

“I’d love that.”

A sense of thrill raced up Hermione’s spine. She couldn’t deny that she was excited by the idea of riding horses through the Italian countryside with Draco leading the way. The idea of Draco on a horse had never occurred to her, but she found herself unable to let the image go. 

“A tour and then a bite to eat?” Draco raised an eyebrow at Hermione. She hadn’t forgotten his comment at the airport--the one about getting her somewhere so that he could take her clothes off. She’d worn a light summer dress to make it that much easier for him. And he was going to make her wait. 

“Sounds lovely.” Hermione smiled at him, knowing that he could see the frustration in her eyes. When he took off his sunglasses, she could see the entertainment clear as day in his. 

Hermione followed Draco through the utility door and up a short flight up steps. At the top of the steps was the kitchen, and two house-elves were busy preparing lunch. They stopped to bow at Draco and Hermione as they passed, smiles bright on their faces. 

“Good to have you back, sir!” one of them said. The other nodded in agreement. 

“Good to be back,” Draco smiled down at them. “You’re the best chef Italy has ever seen. I wouldn’t want to eat anywhere else.”

“Oh, thank you, sir!” 

Both elves seemed as if they would pass out from all of the attention. Hermione couldn’t help the growing urge to rip Draco’s clothes off right then and there. The kitchen was big enough that they would have options. Plenty of counter space could support Hermione either sitting on it or bent over it. There was an island counter in the center, that would do just fine. A simple wooden dining table separated the kitchen from a lounge area, and Hermione would gladly clear it off so that Draco could do to her what he wanted. Watching Draco be pleasant was as sexy as watching him eye fuck her from across a room. 

“After you,” Draco gestured for Hermione to step forward toward the lounge area. She stepped forward, nodding goodbye to the house-elves and making her way through the kitchen. 

The dining table only seated six, which Hermione found unusual for a man whose job it was to entertain people. Two places were set with plates and utensils; a small vase sat at the center, supporting two brilliant blue flowers. Hermione kept her feet moving forward, stepping into the lounge. 

“This is probably my favorite room in all of Europe,” Draco said, making his way to the center of the room. The plain white walls were decorated with landscape paintings, showing off brilliant green trees swaying against fields with dozens of purple flowers. A river raged in one of them, fish jumping out of the water every few moments. “When things get to be too much, this is the one place I’ve always been able to escape to.”

“I like it,” Hermione stared at the fireplace along the back wall. On the mantle were pictures of Draco in his youth, all of them him alone or with Narcissa. Not a single image of Lucious could be found in the first level of the house. “It’s quaint.”

Draco stared at Hermione as she slowly closed the space between them. She couldn’t help herself--even if she wasn’t going to get screwed into the following week, she wanted to touch him. He eyed her as she approached, and hesitantly opened his arms as she moved to wrap herself around him. Hermione rested her head on his chest and could feel his heartbeat against her left ear. His arms made their way around her and she didn’t know how long they stood like that. 

“I’m happy you’re here,” he said softly as if hoping she wouldn’t hear him. Hermione placed a gentle kiss on his right collarbone before turning up to face him. 

“I’m happy I’m here,” she told him. Draco kissed her then, reaching up one hand to wrap in her hair and hold her in place. Their lips moved in perfect rhythm, spurred on by the growing feeling of warmth in both of their chests. When Draco pulled back, his eyebrows were knitted together in an expression Hermione couldn’t quite read. Draco cleared his throat and stepped backward, putting a few inches of space between them. 

“I do believe we have a tour to finish,” he quipped, raising an eyebrow at her. “Don’t distract me.”

“I can’t help it,” Hermione giggled, tucking her hair behind her ear. She’d decided to keep it down, and the wind from the topless car had done a number on her curls. “You make it so easy.”

Draco took her hand and led Hermione up a spiral staircase that stood near the front door. The black metal stood out against the white stucco and orange clay that filled the rest of the space. He explained that, when he was twenty, he’d had the old staircase replaced with the current one. Draco had spent much of his childhood wanting a spiral staircase, and when the villa was left to him, he decided to have one installed. 

Two guest bedrooms sat on opposite sides of the hallway, their doors closed. Draco asked if she wanted to see them, but her eyes were on the double door at the far side of the hallway. She knew what sat behind them; the master bedroom. The place where Draco would, hopefully, take her clothes off. 

“We’ve got a whole weekend to see them,” she glanced up at him. “I’d rather see the master bedroom if you don’t mind.”

Draco laughed and placed a soft peck on her cheek. They approached the door and Draco opened it, motioning for Hermione to enter first. 

The room was bigger than Hermione had anticipated. An expansive bed was framed on either side by large windows, and a glass door led to a balcony that Hermione hadn’t seen from the outside. The furnishings were simple--just a bed, dresser, bookshelf, and desk--and the room was filled with sketches pinned to the walls. Quills and parchment covered the desk, and it was clear that Draco had a tendency to come and go quickly, not bothering to clean up after himself. 

“The ensuite bathroom is through that door,” Draco nodded toward a door beside the dresser. “It’s probably the most luxurious thing about this villa.”

Draco was telling the truth. It wasn’t that Hermione thought the villa itself was awful--she was more than elated with the entirety of it. Hermione had only ever dreamed of a place like that. She’d grown up far more than poor, but her parents had never been the kind to splurge on vacation homes. They preferred to spend vacations in simple hostels and hotels, thinking their money was better spent on experiencing the country than getting some sleep. The fact that the villa existed at all was something Hermione had ever considered. 

And the bathroom was like something out of a movie. A floor-to-ceiling shower sat in the corner of the space, featuring a bench that backed along a sleek, glass wall. The marble of the bench became part of the massive tub beside it. A double-vanity sink provided even more space for Hermione to have her world rocked by Draco Malfoy. 

“I think the entire thing is luxurious.” Hermione turned to see Draco standing mere inches from her. 

Being around him meant that sometimes weird things happened. Hermione didn’t know how to describe it, but sometimes the world fell away from them completely. It was like apparating without going anywhere. Space and time condensed into a single point, condensing everything until it exploded. Hermione and Draco were left behind, alone, swirling through the cosmos. Just the two of them. 

“Are you hungry?” Draco asked. Hermione raised an eyebrow at him. 

“I think you already know the answer to that.”

Hermione bit at her bottom lip, hoping he would stop showing self-restraint and just have his way with her already. Instead, Draco chuckled and once again reached out for her hand. 

“I think the house-elves would be hurt if we don’t eat,” he said. “And, I don’t know about you, but offending them isn’t on my itinerary for this trip.”

With a sigh, Hermione let him pull her in for a quick kiss before they made their way back down to the kitchen. Glasses of wine and some kind of pasta were already sitting at the table waiting for them, and the elves were nowhere to be seen. Draco pulled out Hermione’s chair and kissed the top of her head as she sat down. 

* * *

Draco was equal parts nervous and turned on. He wasn’t sure which feeling was more intense, but he also wasn’t sure that it mattered. The resulting emotion was something that came eerily close to giddiness as if he was a child on Christmas morning. 

He’d really done it. Draco Malfoy had not only gotten Hermione Granger to come to the mansion, but she was sitting across from him in Italy, sipping on her wine and twirling pasta around her plate with her fork. Hermione asked Draco an array of questions about the property, wanting to know how long it had been in the family, why the table only sat six people, and how often he came. He answered her questions with surprising ease, not used to feeling so willing to share what he deemed to be private information. 

“You’re the first person I’ve brought here.” Draco found himself saying. 

The food had been cleared away and the pair sat on the couch in the lounge, continuing to sip at their wine. Hermione had her legs pulled up beneath her on the cool leather, and was leaning against the armrest. His legs were on either side of her, and her right hand was on his leg. Her thumb drew circles around his ankle, tickling slightly. 

“Not even Pansy?” Hermione raised an eyebrow at him. She’d begun to do that more--raise eyebrows. Draco thought she looked absolutely adorable when she did that. The eyebrow raise was always accompanied by a soft smirk; the playful kind that made him want to yell her name from a rooftop. 

“Especially not Pansy,” Draco laughed, taking a sip of his wine. “She’d lose her mind if she saw this place. She’d try renovating it from top to bottom.”

“And I take it renovations are not on your to-do list?”

“I like the charm of it,” Draco replied, looking around the room. The only changes that had been made in its twenty-five years in the Malfoy family were the paintings on the walls and pictures on the mantle. His mother also had an affinity for the simpler things in life, especially when it came to private spaces such as the villa. “I know this may come as a surprise, but I’m a simple man, Hermione. I don’t need much.”

Hermione hummed happily, setting her wine glass down on the coffee table. When she turned to face him, Draco’s breath hitched in his throat. She was staring at him from beneath her eyelashes and chewing on her bottom lip. 

“I suppose it’s a good thing that I’m a simple lady,” she purred, placing one hand on either of his legs. He was still wearing his khaki trousers, but the shirt had long been abandoned in the afternoon heat. “There’s only one thing I need.”

Draco felt the corners of his lips twitch along with his cock. When he had drunkenly relented and agreed with Pansy that he should invite her to the mansion, he hadn’t known that this would be the result. If he had, Hermione would have been the first witch he invited. Draco had expected that she’d turn down the invitation. Or, if she accepted, she’d spend the entire week in the guest house, or hiding away on some odd corner of the property. 

Instead, she screwed around with one of his closest friends. And then she’d had the nerve to look at him with big, curious eyes the morning she’d caught him trying to kill Theodore. Catching her gaze in the dining room was the only thing that had kept him from chasing the fucker down and reminding him that he was Draco’s friend before some girl’s weekend fling. But, Hermione wasn’t just a girl, and fortunately for Draco, she had followed him up to his office. And then to his bedroom. She hadn’t even gotten scared away when he nearly admitted that she had taken up much of his teenage brain. She’d drifted away during the war and for a while afterward, but like always she made her way back to the forefront of his thoughts and dreams. 

Draco was acutely aware that he was spending far too much time overthinking. Who cared about every decision and moment that had led to the current one. He was laid out on a couch, in Italy, with Hermione Granger making her way toward his cock with far too much lust in her eyes. He watched in awe as she slowly moved to rest on her knees and shift forward, one hand coming up to paw at his trousers. 

Hermione continued to press at him with eager fingers as she kissed her way up his chest. Draco couldn’t help but grab her by the hair and pull her up so that he could kiss her. And kiss her he did. Her lips parted quickly for him to slide his tongue inside, exploring every inch of her mouth. She moaned into the kiss and pressed herself closer, her hands moving to undo the button and pull down the zipper on his hands. 

“I want you in my mouth,” she mumbled against his lips, tugging at his waistband. Draco thanked himself for not wearing a belt. Hermione began to kiss along his jawline to his neck where she nipped lightly at the skin. Draco couldn’t stop the growl that escaped his lips. She was teasing him, and he was the happiest he had been in years. 

Draco pushed her back and stood up, yanking his pants off in one swift motion. By the time he’d finished kicking his pants to the side, Hermione’s dress was joining them on the floor. Draco stepped toward the couch, his cock absolutely throbbing. 

“Then be a good girl and do it,” Draco said, reaching out to rub his thumb along her chin. “Before I have to punish you for not wearing anything beneath that dress.”

His words were barely out of his mouth before Hermione was sliding from the couch to kneel in front of him, and was licking him from base to tip. She paused to place a kiss there, staring at him from her position. Every time that Hermione got on her knees in front of him was like the first time; dizzying, maddening, and almost enough to make him cum right then and there. 

Another thing that Draco had been given no warning about was Hermione’s mouth. She slid up and down his length with ease, able to take him in until her nose was bumping his lower abdomen. Not that Draco was full of himself, but not many witches could handle his length. Hermione did it with ease--she did everything in bed with ease--as if she’d been made for him. Draco thought he knew everything about mind-blowing sex and top-notch blow jobs; and then he began sleeping with Hermione Granger. 

Hermione began to pick up her pace, her eyes falling closed as she moaned against him. He didn’t notice it at first, but she’d begun playing with herself. She’d tease her clit for a few moments and then slip a finger into what Draco knew to be the warmest and tightest pussy he’d encountered in the seven or so years he’d been having sex. Draco couldn’t help but pull on her hair, needing to grip something in order to remain sane. She was picking up her intensity, sucking on him a little bit harder with each ascent, her tongue making perfect patterns around him. 

“Fuck me, Hermione,” Draco groaned, staring down at her with half-open eyes. She slid off of him then, stroking him slowly with her hand as she peppered kisses over his abdomen. 

“If you insist.”

There was a fire in her eyes and a smirk on her lips. Draco pulled her up to kiss him then, his hands exploring every inch of her body. Her hands grabbed at his shoulders and scratched down his back as she pressed herself closer to him. Hermione shifted them slightly and then she was pushing him back onto the couch. Draco stared up at her and they stayed like that for a few breaths, just gazing at one another. Their chests were rising and falling in unison; Draco could feel sweat already sliding down his temple, and a few droplets had collected on Hermione’s collarbones. 

And then, Hermione was climbing on top of him, her hips easily sliding into place. She took him again with her hand and stroked him a few times, his tip bumping against her entrance. 

“Hermione,” he couldn’t help but mumble her name impatiently. Draco didn’t know what it was about the villa, but it was clear that he was no longer in charge. He wasn’t upset about it, he just wanted her to--

Hermione slid down him with ease, taking him all in with one movement. Both of them gasped at the sensation and Draco’s hands grabbed onto her hips. Hermione placed her hands on his shoulder and rolled her hips forward. 

“That’s lovely,” Hermione half-laughed, half-moaned. She stared down at him as she moved, keeping her pace slow and consistent. She was letting him get used to it, and when he wasn’t ready she’d make him finish in a matter of moments. 

Draco knew that because that was what he did. She’d been studying him, figuring him out. And he was absolutely helpless. 

“It’s, mhm,” Draco’s eyes fell shut and he let his head rest against the back of the couch. Everything about her was hot and wet and tight and he was having a hard time figuring out which way was up and which way was down. “Yes.”

Hermione leaned down to nibble at his earlobe, her hips suddenly coming to a stop. Draco watched to flip her over and fuck her into oblivion for stopping like that. As if sensing his thoughts, she braced herself and put her hands on either side of his head. 

“I’m going to fuck you until I cum,” she whispered, kissing the skin just beneath his ear. “And I’m going to cum so hard that the feeling of it has you cumming in less than five minutes. Got that?”

Draco almost came. Fuck, she was good at that. Way too good at that. Part of him was scared, and that only made him want her more. Hermione Granger, the girl who loved it when he tied her up and played with her, was telling him that she was going to make him cum in five minutes. He believed her. 

Hermione kissed him deeply as her hips bucked forward, and Draco couldn’t help but moan out her name. Her rhythm was fast and deep; he could feel her getting closer to her own climax, and the anticipation was sending him over the edge. He wanted to feel her spasming around him, pulling him deeper into her as she screamed out his name. She was close, he was so close, and Draco didn’t know how much more of it he could take. 

“I’m going to cum.” 

Draco’s eyes snapped open at Hermione’s words. He wanted to watch her when she did. Hermione had leaned back and had both hands on his chest. He grabbed at her hips and chest, letting his hands explore where they wanted. 

“Say my name when you cum,” Draco shifted so that he could reach up and suck a nipple into his mouth. The new position sent him even deeper, and he almost forgot how to breathe.

“Oh, fuck,” Hermione gripped onto his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin. He was begging her in his mind to please say his name. He couldn’t take much more. “Draco, yes! Fuck.”

“Shit,  _ Hermione _ .”

In one swift moment, the entire world shattered. Nothing could be heard over the sound of Draco’s heartbeat and shaky breaths. White dots filled his vision as he gripped her so hard he made a mental note to check for bruises when he finally came down. If he ever came down. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this flashback was an absolute joy to write. if anyone is confused about the timeline like i lowkey was, let me break it down. hermione is first invited to the mansion in june of 2003. chapter one of moml takes place in april 2005. 
> 
> also can we PLEASE talk about draco driving a maserati? idk i just get hella jordan belfort vibes from him and the idea of him knowing how to drive and doing it just to impress hermione has me like emotional af??? dunno lmk in the comments how that made you feel because i FELT things


	4. A Late Night Invitation

Hermione sipped at her tea as she leaned against the kitchen counter. Crookshanks meowed and bumped himself against her legs. For a moment, she found herself getting unnecessarily angry. Couldn’t he see that she was having an existential moment and needed some space?

Draco’s note sat on her table, the crisp white parchment stark against the dark wood. He’d invited her over for the evening. Not the weekend, nor to anywhere in particular. After ice cream, he had offered her one Tuesday evening in his bed as if that was all the time that he could afford to give. 

Half of Hermione wanted to ignore the note and go to bed. Or, better yet, owl Ginny and spend the evening playing charades or cards with her two closest friends. Maybe she would get dressed up and go to a pub, see who she ran into. It was only 8 pm, she had time to go out and make it home before it was too late. All of the lingerie that she’d collected over the years sat mostly unused in her dresser; a new love interest may be more interested in them than her current one. 

But another half, the lower half, of Hermione, wanted to go. She wanted to see Draco shirtless walking into the room as she sat on his bed, waiting to do as she was told. Surprisingly, the sound of his voice whispering what he wanted into her ear, and getting praised when she did it, was what kept Hermione going back. The way that he spoke to her, and the way he looked at her afterward, was more intoxicating than any drug or potion. 

Draco at the mansion was different than Draco at another manor home, or in a far off city in a new country, the two of them hiding away from it all. At the mansion he was dominant and sex-driven, hardly spending any time not taking her clothes off. Outside of it, he was something softer. He caressed her more gently and looked at Hermione with a fondness that she hadn’t known he was capable of feeling. 

Crookshanks nipped at her ankle, grabbing her attention. Hermione reached down and scooped him into her arms, his front paws resting on her shoulder. He bumped her chin with the top of his head, purring and flexing his claws. 

“What do you think?” Hermione asked, bringing up a hand to pet Crookshanks. “Do I stay home or do I go to the mansion?”

Crookshanks nipped at her left earlobe, prompting Hermione to pull him away. The cat narrowed his eyes at her as she held him by the armpits, suspended in midair. 

“That was quite rude,” Hermione said, pursing her lips at him. “You know, because of that, I’m going.”

She set the cat down and turned to head toward her bedroom. Pictures of her friends decorated the hall, and she tried to ignore their bright smiles and noiseless laughter on her way to pick out lingerie for Draco. Hermione found it particularly difficult to ignore Harry, his eyes seeming to follow her progress toward the bedroom door. Hermione knew that she was making it up, photographs didn’t work that way, but she couldn’t help but feel as if she should be more honest with him. With Ginny, for that matter. 

Hermione set about opening dresser drawers and scanning her way through far too much underwear to distract herself from her thoughts. Draco often bought her pieces when they went on vacations, and twice as Christmas gifts. All of them felt overused and no longer eye-catching. How was she supposed to properly continue to seduce a man who surrounded himself with gorgeous, half-naked women for a living?

After several minutes of searching, Hermione collapsed with a frustrated sigh onto her bed. If she couldn’t find anything to wear, she definitely wasn’t going. On her closet door hung a floor-length mirror, and she caught sight of her reflection in the glass. A thin, satin night slip was what she had attempted to go to bed in. She wouldn’t admit it to Draco, or anyone else, but she quite enjoyed the feeling of sleeping in something so soft and barely there. Light pink flowers with brilliant green leaves contrasted wonderfully with the dark background and accentuated Hermione’s waistline. Hermione decided that she wasn’t going to change, and if he had a problem with it then he could find someone else to shag on a Tuesday evening after three days of silence. She’d owled him on Saturday morning, letting him know that she was free for the weekend. Hermione’s bed had been calling her name when the impressive grey owl pecked at her bedroom window. 

Yes. Draco Malfoy was going to get whatever she gave him, and he was going to like it because he was behaving foolishly. 

Still feeling somewhat angry with Crookshanks, Hermione apparated to Draco’s room without tossing an “I love you!” into the hallway for the cat to find if he pleased. To her surprise, Draco was already in the room, sitting with his legs crossed on one of the armchairs by the window. Despite the fact that his back was to her, Hermione could see in his shoulders how tired and worn down he had become. 

Draco turned in his seat to face her briefly, offering a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Taking a deep breath, Hermione stepped forward. She walked until she could wrap her arms around his chest and leaned down to press a soft kiss to his cheek.

“Hi.”

Hermione felt Draco smile with her lips still pressed to his cheek. She smiled in tune with him, enjoying the feeling of him leaning into her touch. 

“I missed you,” Draco whispered, still staring out of the window. His temple rested against hers and she looked out onto the mansion grounds with him. The property was quiet, only Alice and her friends mingling by the pool. Hermione enjoyed it when the grounds were quiet; the mansion seemed more romantic than purely lustful.

“I missed you too.”

It was the truth. She had missed him--more than she’d care to admit. She found it difficult, to want to be around a man who found himself drawn to everything except her. Hermione didn’t know what she had to do to remind Draco that she was there, she was his, as long as he wanted her to be. Did he even want her to be?

“What did you miss?” Draco turned slightly to try and face her. She took the hint and came around to the front of the chair. Draco motioned for her to sit on his lap and she did, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. He pulled her closer by the waist, one of his hands tracing circles on her thigh. They fit together like two matching puzzle pieces no matter what position they found themselves in; it was a bit like magic. 

“I missed your laughter,” Hermione pecked his neck just beneath his ear, “the feeling of kissing you, and screaming out your name. What did you miss?”

Draco chuckled beneath her, resting his head against her collarbone. Draco planted a firm but soft kiss on her skin, his hand trailing dangerously close to the apex of her thighs. 

“I missed your wit, you touching me,” Draco pulled back to look Hermione in the eye, “and hearing you scream my name.”

Hermione’s breath caught in her throat. She wanted nothing more than to press their lips together, rip off his shirt, and have her way with him right there on that armchair. It appeared that Draco had the same thoughts, as the look he was giving her sent electric shocks down her spine. 

“So make me.”

Hermione bumped her nose against his; a challenge. Draco gave her a wicked smile before reaching his lips up to hers. It was the first kiss they had shared in weeks, and Hermione quickly found herself dizzy with the taste of him on her tongue. His hands were warm on her skin, searching, grasping for every inch of her. 

A hand slipped beneath her silk babydoll, finding Hermione already slick with arousal. He let out a kind of growl that had Hermione’s hips bucking toward his hand, wanting him on and in her at the same time. That was the thing about being touched by Draco--he could never touch her everywhere at once; he only had two hands. And she always found herself wanting more. 

Draco sat up unexpectedly, pulling away from her as he righted himself. “Let’s get you on the bed.” He carried her toward the bed and tossed her down onto the mattress. Hermione stretched her arms out above her head, barely containing the urge to rub her thighs together. Draco took his time, unbuttoning his shirt one button at a time at the slowest pace imaginable. He smirked at her irritated whimper, evidently loving every minute of watching her squirm. 

* * *

Draco stared down at Hermione, his fingers undoing the last of the buttons on his shirt. She looked absolutely breathtaking, laying before him like that. It was difficult to remember how deep in thought he had been, wondering what was taking her so long. An hour had passed between his owl and her arrival; if she’d been another five minutes, she would have found him in bed and no longer in the mood. 

Although wearing that slip, Hermione would have been able to wake him back up with little resistance. Draco was like putty in her hands, falling apart in front of her every time she came to visit. He had to fight with himself to maintain composure. 

“I want you to do me a favor,” he tossed his shirt to the side. Hermione didn’t take her eyes off his lips, already nodding vigorously in agreement. “You’re going to count the number of times I make you cum. Can you do that for me?”

Draco’s cock twitched in his trousers as Hermione let out a soft moan. She offered him a breathless _yes_ , biting on her bottom lip. Draco grabbed her by the ankles and pulled her closer to the edge of the bed. He slid the slip up her thighs to her waist, taking in the image of her sex, slightly pink and waiting for him. 

Every time he saw her was like the first time, all those years ago in that very room. She’d been tied to the ceiling, shaking for him within minutes, and following him to sleep after he confessed his alleged feelings for her. Draco was sure that night that his confused emotions would scare her away; and there they were, about to play her favorite game. 

He teased her with a finger first, smiling to himself when she let out a gasp at the contact. He trailed the tip of his finger up and down her slit a few times, spending a few extra moments to circle her entrance. She was absolutely wet and ready for him; he wondered how many times she’d cum for him before he was finished. Their personal best was twenty-one times in three hours. 

Draco made the same motions with his tongue, gently sliding a finger inside of her as he found her clit. Ever a good girl, Hermione kept her hands above her head, most likely gripping the covers between her fingers. She tasted like arousal and primal instinct, pushing him to move his fingers and tongue faster. Draco wanted to push her to the edge as quickly as possible, and keep her there until he couldn’t do much more. He moved his finger faster, quickly adding a second, flexing them inside of her. 

“Mmm, Draco, _yes_ ,” Hermione was gasping and moaning, her hips rolling forward into his touch. He couldn’t help but hum in approval against her, wanting nothing more than to keep her searching for air. “More. Please.”

Draco obliged. He moved to trail kisses along her inner thigh, his thumb replacing his tongue on her clit. She was fighting to keep her legs apart; he could feel her muscles clenching, and his cock was growing unbearably hard in his trousers. 

“I’m gonna cum soon,” Hermione rolled her hips forward again, meeting every thrust of his fingers. “Please, please, please. I’m--”

Draco added a third finger and returned his lips to her clit, sucking and swirling his tongue the way that she liked. And she was clenching down on his fingers, legs shaking and screaming out his name at the ceiling.

“One.”

Hermione half-sat up on the bed, watching him slow his movements with hooded eyes. Her skin was already flushed, and the bun that her hair had been wrapped in was beginning to fall apart. 

He pulled away from her to stand and remove his trousers. Draco’s cock sprang free and Hermione licked her lips, eyeing him as he stood before her. For a moment, she was the one staring at him as if he was the one on display. Before he lost his nerve and turned into a puddle of infatuated adoration, Draco swooped down to press their lips together. Hermione’s hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer with every movement of their lips. 

If he was any other man, and she was any other witch, Draco supposed that he would make love to her. As he kissed her deeply and moved her up the bed, he considered just laying there for a moment, hovering above her. He wondered what she’d do if he gently caressed her skin; slowly ran his hands over her body and worshiped her as if she was from another world. Would she fall apart beneath his hands, shattered by his forceful attempt at something deeper than sex? Or would she melt into the feeling of him, move her hips slowly against his and coax both of them on to something deeper. 

“You’re handsome,” Hermione’s voice brought him back into focus. He stared down at her and watched helplessly as she reached up a hand to touch his cheek. “Especially when you’re deep in thought.”

Draco smirked and grabbed her wrist. He pinned it to the pillow beside her head and dipped down to hover his lips over hers. The moment was hovering dangerously close to intimacy; he felt himself considering bolting for the door. He had to regain control before she had him doing things he’d regret when the sun came up. 

“Just thinking about how hard I’m going to fuck you,” Draco tried to steer them back on track. He kissed her firmly on the lips, teasing her entrance. She was absolutely dripping; Draco knew he’d be able to slide into her as easily as he dipped into the pool. A wanton smile took over Hermione’s face, and Draco positioned himself.

“Please,” Hermione looked up at him from beneath her eyelashes, hips bucking impatiently. “It’s been three weeks.”

Draco obliged her, his hips snapping forward to meet hers with one thrust. Both of them gasped at the feeling of him buried deep within her. She was wet and hot around him, nearly enough to end him right then and there. He pulled back and entered her again, beginning with long strokes to ease her toward the edge. 

Once she was used to the sensation, Draco sat back until he was sitting up and pulled her hips up to meet the new angle. It let him push deeper into her, and she was writhing beneath him, begging for more. He let himself get lost in the feeling of her walls clenching down around his cock, her thighs shaking in his hands. She came two, three, four times as he stared down at her. Hermione had decided to pull at her own hair, and Draco dropped a hand to her throat. 

She looked beautiful, lying beneath him. He could feel her heartbeat against his palm and squeezed gently, watching the way her pupils dilated. She moaned out his name, a low and almost growl-like kind of sound. Her eyes had fallen closed and they opened suddenly, hungry amber meeting his simmering blue. If he didn’t change their position, he was going to bust. 

“On your hands and knees,” Draco pulled out of her, barely able to formulate words. “Facing the headboard.”

Draco wasn’t ready for Hermione to giggle. His heart, already erratic, began to smash itself against his rib cage. He thought for sure his ribs would break beneath the pressure of his suffocated lungs and spasming heart. Then, to make matters worse, Hermione leaned up to place a gentle kiss on his lips. She kept her sultry eyes open, maintaining eye contact as she sat up and began to shift so that her back was to him. She arched her back in the most delicious way possible, her ass and pussy slick with her arousal and on display for him. 

“Fuck,” Draco breathed out the word. He reached out a hand to deliver a swift smack to Hermione’s ass. She pushed her hips back in response, biting down onto the pillow. “God, you’re hot.”

She pushed back against him again, moaning into the pillow. 

“And I’m only at four,” she turned to look at him over her shoulder. Draco felt his lips twitch at her words. Only at four. “If you really thought I was hot, you would-- shit-- _yes,_ _Draco_. Yes.”

This time, Draco didn’t allow her time to get adjusted to him inside of her. He started with a swift and fast tempo, spurred on by the glassy look that came over her eyes. Hermione was biting on her lip and writhing beneath him, looking like everything he had ever fantasized about. Fuck any witch that he’d photographed for the magazine--Hermione was the sexiest witch to have ever been born. 

“Mmm, Hermione,” Draco glanced down at where their bodies connected. He watched himself slide in and out of her, and the visual mixed with the feeling was causing pressure to build in his lower abdomen. He laughed. “I don’t know if I’m going to last much longer.”

“I’m… definitely…” Hermione attempted to push a few strands of hair out of her face. Her bun was long gone. “About to cum again.”

Draco moved his hips faster, pushing both of them closer to the edge. He wanted to fall into the abyss with her, falling apart on top of her like a supernova. Because that’s how she made him feel--like a dying star that was getting ready to explode in a brilliant flash of heat and light. 

“Draco, faster, I’m-” Hermione tensed beneath him, her legs and walls shaking as she climaxed. Draco lost himself in the feeling, letting his body be overrun with intense pleasure. His hips began to stutter, his pace less focused. When Hermione said, “Five.” Draco lost it. He came apart above her, gasping her name into the air. He collapsed on top of her, his hands barely catching him before she was crushed. 

He moved to kiss her cheek and was taken by surprise when Hermione turned and their lips met instead. She kissed him tenderly, even reaching up a hand to cup his cheek. The pair shifted so that they could face each other, keeping their lips pressed together. Draco’s hand found its way to her hip, and Hermione was playing with his hair. 

Draco didn’t realize when they stopped kissing. He didn’t notice her hand slow down its movements, or that her breathing got deeper. It wasn’t until his own eyes were falling shut that he realized she’d already fallen asleep and that he was still wrapped up in her arms. 

* * *

Hermione woke up to the sound of someone knocking on the door. She slowly sat up and rubbed at her eyes, not quite realizing that she had to be at work. The first thing that she noticed was that the bedroom was empty. 

“Who is it?” she called, swinging her feet over the edge of the bed. Pansy stuck her head inside, a soft smile on her lips. “Hey, Pansy. Good morning. What time is it?”

“Seven,” Pansy chuckled softly. “I didn’t want to wake you too early. But, I also couldn’t have you being late to work either.”

Hermione smiled and stood up. Pansy complimented her babydoll before closing the door shut with a soft _click_. Hermione didn’t bother to contemplate where Draco had gone, or what he was up to. A small sense of sadness welled up in her throat, but she pushed the sensation away as best she could. He was, after all, a busy wizard. And she a busy witch. She couldn’t expect him to always be there to kiss her goodbye after a late-night visit. 

Within moments, she was standing in her own kitchen, Crookshanks meowing angrily at her feet. Hermione sighed and attempted a warm smile, bending down to scratch at his ear. 

“Sorry, handsome,” Hermione planted a kiss on top of his head. “Let’s get you some breakfast.”

Hermione fed the cat and made her way to the bathroom. She had nearly forty-five minutes to shower and shake away that all too familiar feeling: that she was missing something.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaand i'm back with an update (finally) 
> 
> the plot is really going to start thickening after this chapter ;) they're both going to have to start making some decisions and (hopefully) getting it together!! also, if i made a playlist for this would anyone be interested? i've slowly started making a playlist for when i write this fic so i'd be interested to see if that's something you guys would enjoy!!


	5. What's It Like Being Draco Malfoy?

Draco would never admit to being scared of Pansy. After all, what kind of proper wizard was scared of his ex-girlfriend-turned-assistant-and-closest-friend? He respected the fact that she was a witch capable of ending his very existence on Earth, which was the furthest thing from fear. However, that didn’t stop his muscles from tensing when he heard her sharp heels snapping on the wooden stairs as she made her way purposefully to his office. 

He’d been seated at his desk for hours already, unable to sleep, and unwilling to face Hermione when she was her most vulnerable. Waking up beside her in the mansion was always a challenge. Seeing her lying there, a charming face framed by hundreds of soft curls, was nearly too much for him. He’d left for his office sometime after she’d fallen asleep and hadn’t returned. Spread out across the desk were more of Theodore’s outrageous plans for the magazine, subscription projections through the end of 2006, and a new pool of submissions for June’s erotic fiction piece. Draco busied himself with one of the manuscripts, wanting to appear busy. 

“Draco. Lucius. Malfoy.” Pansy accentuated each word with a step across the sitting room as she marched toward the archway. Her jaw set and expression nothing short of peeved; the fabric of her rustic, orange dress swayed about her knees with purpose.

“Pansy,” Draco flashed her a showy smile, setting the manuscript down. “My charming,  _ doting _ friend.”   
“Shove off,” Pansy rolled her eyes and walked until she was standing behind one of the cushioned chairs facing his desk. She placed both hands on the back of a chair and leaned forward, looking absolutely dangerous. “Honestly.  _ Shove _ .  _ Off _ .”

“Is this about agreeing to the Rita Skeeter contract?” Draco folded his hands in front of him, fighting to keep a smirk from his lips. If he could get her mad about something else, Pansy wouldn’t have the time or care to accuse him of playing with Hermione’s feelings. “I’ll have you know, Blaise supported it whole-heartedly.”

“I didn’t come here to complain about Skeeter,” Pansy scoffed. “I have that penciled in for next Thursday morning. No, I’m here to tell you that you’re a right idiot for leaving her to wake up by herself  _ again _ .”

It was Draco’s turn to roll his eyes, although his expression of annoyance was less playful. He pursed his lips and searched for any way to justify his actions to Pansy. 

“I couldn’t sleep?”

It came out as a question, and Draco resigned himself to the impending lecture. He eyed Pansy carefully, attempting to gauge just how loud and to-the-point she would be. Instead, he watched as Pansy straightened herself up and smoothed out her dress. 

“You have a lunch scheduled with Alexander Knoll, one of the lead managers for a Scottish distribution company, this afternoon,” Pansy’s expression was unforgivably neutral. “So, breakfast is moved to nine. Don’t bother coming if you’re going to ruin everyone else’s day.”

As Pansy turned to leave, Draco found himself reaching toward her as if that was any way to make her stop. 

“Did it ruin her day?” He heard himself ask. Pansy stopped briefly as if she was going to answer his question. After a moment’s hesitation, she resumed her graceful exit and was disappearing down the steps. 

Rather than go to breakfast, Draco had a cup of tea and some toast brought to his office. He busied himself with reading through manuscripts, marking off ones that he didn’t absolutely hate. Around 10:30 am, prints from the previous weeks’ photoshoots were brought to him, and he robotically sorted through them. 

Every so often, he found himself wondering what Hermione was doing at the Ministry. He pictured her sitting at a desk he’d never seen before, wearing a set of professional robes that he had no idea existed. She’d tap the feather of her quill against her temple as she stared down at files and reports, licking at the lipstick that she might wear. Beautiful wouldn’t even begin to describe the way that Hermione most likely looked at that very moment, miles away and, hopefully, thinking about him too.

Morning sunlight gave way to mid-morning heat, and Draco took to pacing around the study as he mentally prepared for lunch with Alexander Knoll. He’d met the Scottsman at a publication conference in France and the pair had hit it off. Draco was almost certain they could land a partnership, as long as Theodore kept himself in check. 

Draco put off going to his room to get ready until the last possible moment. Of course, the bed was already made and Hermione was long gone by the time he got there. However, that didn’t stop him from standing in the doorway, staring down at the bed for a few moments before he could enter the room. He wondered what she had looked like when she woke up; if she’d reached out to see if he was there.

Pushing the thoughts from his mind proved more challenging than Draco had imagined. He ended up having to do a shot of firewhiskey with Blaise to calm his nerves before the business lunch. Theodore, late as always, made his leisurely way to the foyer with his hands in his pockets five minutes after they were supposed to leave. Blaise, for everyone’s sake, took the opportunity to chastise Theo before Draco had the chance to punch him, or outright fire him altogether. 

Lunch was at a restaurant somewhere in London, Draco couldn’t remember the name even while staring at the menu. Alexander Knoll had already been seated when the group arrived, and he stood to shake each of their hands. He was just as bright and charismatic as Draco had remembered from the conference. Theodore was sitting uncomfortably close to Draco’s left as if the wizard was attempting to sit in his lap. Perhaps at one point in their friendship, such a thing would have been at least mildly funny, but Draco found himself wishing Theo could be a bit more like Blaise: quiet, professional, and not preparing to drink half of the bar. 

The group made small talk as orders were placed and then settled down to talk about business. It didn’t take long for Draco to convince Knoll that Disrobed could help his company meet their sales quotas by the end of the third quarter, and soon there was little business to talk about. By the time everyone’s sandwiches were being dropped off at the table, the conversation turned dangerously close to a lot of nothing that Draco wanted to talk about.

“So, tell me,” Alexander sliced his sandwich in half and took a bite. “What’s it like being Draco Malfoy, founder of one of the most modern publications the Wizarding World has seen?”

Draco was used to getting that question. After all, having amassed such a following at only twenty-four, that inquiry was frequently tossed his way. 

“As an entrepreneur, I consider myself lucky,” Draco said, almost on auto-pilot. “When I started the project, I hardly saw us having ten subscribers. And now we’re past twenty thousand subscribers as of last week.”

Blaise and Theo smiled proudly at the mention of their subscriber count. After all, without both of them, Draco would still be wallowing away in a mansion, drinking firewhiskey, and partying until he fell over. 

“But, how does that feel as a man?” Alexander raised an eyebrow at Draco. “Don’t you find yourself wishing you had someone to share that success with?” As the Scottsman moved to bring his drink to his lips, Draco noticed the handsome wedding band on his left hand. 

Draco couldn’t help but feel as if he wanted to “go to the loo” and never come back as if the professional lunch had turned into some kind of awful first date. Alexander was looking at him innocently, the smallest hint of a laugh dancing along with his words. Of course, Draco’s newest business partner didn’t know about Hermione; no one outside of the mansion did. Not to mention the fact that he and Hermione shared little more than a bed on a decreasing basis. After nearly a month without touching her, Draco couldn’t even bring himself to stay in bed and sleep with her in his arms. 

“He’s got us, what more could he need?” Theo piped in, elbowing Draco in the shoulder. Draco attempted to put on some sort of smile, though it may have come across as more of a grimace. He reached for his firewhiskey and finished the glass with one quick sip. 

Inviting Hermione to the mansion had been a drunken whim; Draco simply wanting to finally get to know the witch who had haunted his waking thoughts for years. And, as soon as he’d gotten her, Draco did what Draco did best and let it all crash and burn while he remained aloof and somewhat distracted. Gone were the days of shameless partying and unabashed money spending, and yet Draco was as alone and without intimate connection as he had been before. 

“A woman can make all the difference in a man’s life. I was lost as hell before I found Elizabeth,” Alexander tossed his head back in laughter. “Just a brooding bachelor, raised in money, tossing galleons left and right as if they were candies.”

If Draco had been less of a man, he might have thought that Alexander was baiting him on purpose. After all, the man sitting across from him was being far too accurate for Draco’s liking. 

“How’d you two meet?” Theo practically leaned across the table like a schoolgirl partaking in the latest gossip. Draco chanced a look at Blaise who, unfortunately, was looking everywhere except at him. 

“We met at a resort in France, funnily enough. I was away at a conference and she heard me arguing with he bartender over my tab. He’d double-charged me on a few drinks, I guess he thought I had so much money I wouldn’t notice. She’s been saving me sickles, and brain cells, ever since.”

France. 

Draco reached into his pocket and pulled out a small notepad. He’d begun carrying one with him after Hermione had offhandedly suggested it during one of their nights together. She’d been watching him tear apart his room searching for parchment and a quill after an idea had struck. He tried not to think about the peculiar similarity between Alexander’s Elizabeth and his own Hermione as he scribbled down the only thought running through his mind. 

_ Buy that house in France.  _

* * *

When Hermione opened her office door, she hadn’t expected to find Harry awkwardly observing one of her plants. She had expected to see a desk with far too many files and memos on it and no one else occupying her space. 

“Harry.”

Her tone was sharper than she’d intended, but Hermione couldn’t bring herself to feel sorry. Harry knew that people appearing unannounced in her office was something that drove her insane; her office was supposed to be her hideaway. 

“Hermione.”

She busied herself with setting down her purse and then getting comfortable in her chair. At the top of her inbox was a memo reminding the staff to keep the break room clean, and to report any broken items to the custodian straight away. Hermione crumpled up the memo and tossed it into the bin beneath her desk. 

“I do believe your office is across the floor behind a set of cubicles.”

Next on her list of things to acknowledge was a message from the Wizenmagot about a Muggle-born teenager who had happened upon Dark Magic while on holiday with his parents in Australia. The poor kid had accidentally brought back a cursed artifact and had ended up doing some serious damage to a few of his neighborhood friends. Hermione marked it as not urgent and placed it back in her outbox where it vanished. 

“I’m here to talk to you.”

Hermione couldn’t help but chuckle. The chuckle quickly turned to a dark kind of laugh that gave even Hermione chills. 

“Then you should have made an appointment like everyone else.”

She reached for a file labeled URGENT and Harry’s hand came out to stop her from picking it up. Hermione looked up at Harry and saw a face with far too much concern scribbled across the forehead. 

“I’m not supposed to tell you,” Harry pursed his lips. Something on Hermione’s face told him to release his grip on her hand and stand up. He made his way over to the tea tray and pointed his wand at it. After a simple charm, the smell of Earl Grey filled the office. “But they’re thinking about moving you to another department.”

“Excuse me?” Hermione scoffed. “Who is they?”

“Kingsley, Prickle, and I,” Harry shrugged. He took his time pouring out two cups of tea and brought one over to set down on Hermione’s desk. Harry took a seat in one of the chairs facing her desk and reclined into it, a bit too comfortable for her liking. “They want me to be ready to lead this department in a little over a year. I think that we can improve our work with the Wizenmagot in the arrest, trial, and persecution of Dark Wizards.”

Hermione sipped at her tea, wanting to feel something other than existential dread. These men were going to drive her absolutely insane. First, she wakes up alone again after not seeing Draco for weeks, then she walks into her office to see one of her closest friends telling her what he’s about to do with her future. Hermione made a mental note to write both Pansy and Ginny to remind them to keep their men out of her life. 

“What does that have to do with me?” Hermione raised an accusatory eyebrow. 

“We’ve been thinking,” Harry shifted in his seat, “About ways to revamp the justice system in Wizarding Britain. As you know, criminals almost never have counsel and judges play the part of judge, jury, and prosecutor. There are hardly any mandatory sentences for any crimes, allowing judges to sentence defendants as they please.”

“Are you suggesting we attempt to train and employ wizard lawyers?” Hermione scoffed. “Again, what does that have to do with me?”

Harry set his cup of tea down on Hermione’s desk and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His glasses caught the reflection of the morning sun, and Hermione could barely see the hesitancy in his green eyes 

“You’ve got some experience with the type of model we’d hope to implement in our justice system.”

“Yes, a  _ Muggle _ justice system.”

“Correct,” Harry fidgeted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable with Hermione’s defensiveness. But, she couldn’t help herself. To try and implement a Muggle criminal justice system into a Wizarding society was absolutely bonkers. “You are fair and knowledgeable about not only right and wrong but the preservation of one’s rights--rehabilitation over jail time, that sort of thing.”

“So, you want me to be a Wizard Defense Attorney?” Hermione reached for that file marked URGENT which had grabbed her attention before Harry started to talk absolute nonsense. “What in Godrick’s name makes you think I’m qualified for that?”

“I think you’re qualified to be a Wizard Prosecutor,” Harry reached out for his tea and quickly finished it. He stood up to walk the cup back over to the tray, where it disappeared and was replaced with a new cup. “Nothing concrete has been talked about yet. After all, the Wizenmagot is understandably hesitant to change its procedures.”

“So why even bring it to my attention if nothing may come of it?”

Hermione opened the file and was met with gruesome images of a skirmish somewhere in Oxfordshire. Two wizards had been arrested at the scene, both badly injured. Their leader had been killed in the foray, and the Wizenmagot was waiting for them to finish healing at St. Mungo’s before their trial. They were accused of attempting to harass centaurs for information regarding moon cycles and changes in the strength of one’s magic across those cycles. Fortunately, that myth had long been disproved, and none of the centaurs were injured during the fight. 

Harry was standing by the door when Hermione looked up at him. He had a hand on the doorknob but was waiting for her attention. 

“Because we need you to be part of this project if it’s going to work,” Harry used his free hand to adjust his glasses. “And if you have time to see just how helpful a new kind of legal system would be, you’ll be more accepting of the offer if and when it comes.”

Hermione offered Harry a nod in acknowledgment before dropping her eyes back down to the folder. As the door closed, she picked up her quill and began to jot a few notes at the bottom of the report. Once she was sure that Harry was gone, Hermione set down the quill and placed the file in her outbox. Part of her wanted to vanish along with it. 

The clock on the wall above her door read just after eight-thirty. For a moment, Hermione felt absolutely hopeless. Soon her inbox would be overflowing with communications and files that she didn’t want to deal with. Not only that, but she’d have to sit through all of it with a smile and not think about the fact that the Ministry was attempting to trust her with a job she wasn’t quite sure she could manage. Hermione also wasn’t sure she could manage another month without Draco and no goodbye. The idea of sitting around and waiting for ice cream to show up or Pansy to send an owl was less inviting than the idea of holding someone’s fate in the palm of her hands. 

Chewing on her bottom lip, Hermione pulled open the middle drawer on her desk. She shuffled a few loose papers around, looking for a small notebook that she kept for random thoughts, and instead happened upon a picture taken of herself and Draco a year before. They were horseback riding in France with Blaise and Pansy; Pansy had taken the photograph and it was nearly out of focus. The four of them had gone for a ride in a far off forest that Hermione thought could only exist in fairytales, and the autumn season had brought a brilliant shade of orange to the landscape. They had decided to have a picnic in a small clearing, and Hermione was laying with her head in Draco’s lap. A leaf was falling in the picture, and Draco was attempting to bat it away. Hermione watched as an endless real of nostalgia played out in front of her like some kind of cruel trick.

In a year, Draco had taken her to more countries and given her more experiences than she’d thought she could have in a lifetime. And there she was, sitting alone at her desk without a goodbye kiss, staring at an old picture that nearly brought tears to her eyes. Something had gotten lost between them, and Hermione wasn’t sure what it was. Soft glances and proud laughter had all but disappeared, leaving behind two people who spent most of their time trying not to wonder what the other was doing. At least, that was how Hermione spent much of her time. 

Knowing that it was only Wednesday, Hermione allowed the small sense of apathetic sadness to settle into her bones. There were two days left until she could see Pansy, her closest friend, and confidant. There was no use letting herself get lost in trying to find what used to exist between herself and a man whom she hardly knew. She tucked the photograph back into the drawer and closed it before mechanically picking up another file. 

* * *

Draco stood with his hands in his pockets and watched as the sun set over the newest Malfoy property: a lovely French estate featuring a newly renovated castle, lake, wine cellar, and enough equestrian facility space to house almost four-hundred horses. He didn’t know if it was the champagne that had him feeling on top of the world, or if it was the knowledge that he was the proud owner of a home so perfect even Hermione Granger couldn’t say no. 

His almost empty glass of champagne was resting on the fountain in the front driveway, and he nearly lost his balance leaning for it. As he brought the champagne flute to his lips, Draco felt a soft burning sensation in his left pocket moment’s before Pansy’s voice ricocheted off the inside of his skull. 

“Draco Malfoy! Where the bloody hell are you?”

Draco chuckled as he reached into his pocket for the snake-shaped charm. He finished his champagne and tossed the glass into the fountain because he was far too drunk and elated to put it anywhere else. 

“Why, do you miss me?” Draco quipped, letting himself collapse rather heavily onto the edge of the fountain. 

“I was worried you were dead,” Pansy sounded as if she’d been trying to find him for weeks. It hadn’t been weeks since his meeting with Alexander--he’d thought it only been hours. Weird. “Are you drunk?” 

“I don’t think I’ll ever be fortunate to die,” Draco laughed again. “It seems I’m rather attached to this rather dreary existence, sloshed or sober.”

“Where are you?” Pansy repeated her first question, clearly not prepared to have a lighthearted conversation. That was one of the many reasons the two of them had never worked out; Pansy was all about business and immediate results, while Draco didn’t care when or how, as long as things got done and no one was too serious when they’d been drinking.

“I’m in France,” Draco stared longingly up at the castle, thinking about crawling into one of the bedrooms and never leaving. “Just bought that chateau I was telling you about last week.”

Pansy was silent for a few beats. Draco imagined her massaging her temples as she debated how to kill him when he got home. 

“I’m sorry, you did what?”

“I bought that castle in France!” Draco nearly rolled into the fountain he was laughing so hard. He was sure he could fly if he focused hard enough; the feeling of complete freedom and future laid out before him like some kind of drug. 

“Draco, you get yourself back to this mansion right now.”

Draco let himself slide down the fountain onto the driveway, laying down on the ground. The world felt like it was spinning as he laid there, staring up at the few stars that had begun to show themselves in the early evening sky. 

“I’m losing her, aren’t I?”

No matter how much the world spun, it didn’t shake the feeling that this was him grasping for some sort of control. If he could surround her with places to escape to and wonderful experiences outside of the public eye, why would he ever have to bring her out of hiding? Did she want to come out of hiding? What was he so scared of?

“Draco, come home so we can talk about it.”

Pansy’s voice was softer then, more reserved. Draco would have cried if he was the sort of man to do something like that. Suddenly, that feeling of floating on clouds was replaced with the sensation of falling flat on his face. 

“I’m too drunk to apparate,” he admitted, beginning to feel rather sick. Pansy sighed. 

“I’ll trace the charm, Archie will be there shortly.”

The charm immediately cooled to the touch in Draco’s hand, and he dropped it to the ground. He’d bought the castle in France. It didn’t matter if he woke up the next morning and canceled all of his meetings in favor of laying in bed, nursing the consequences of his bad choices. Hermione would like the castle, and he’d bring her there soon. And maybe he’d be able to find whatever it was that they’d lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am so sorry, but i spent the last week or so aggressively writing a 9.7k angst-ridden one-shot that i posted earlier this morning on ao3 (called a million little times) and i'm dead, everything is on fire, and i finally got this chapter out to you guys [insert heavy breathing here] classes have started for me and i'm also working on a work for the dramione rom com fest so have i spread myself a little too thin?? maybe. does it matter?? no because i'm a dramione hoe who doesn't know how to stop :/ playlist will be attached to the next chapter!! feel free to find me on tumblr @/draqo-pctter for updates and other hp related content!!


	6. An Unexpected Visit

Hermione held her breath until 2 pm Friday afternoon. She raced for the lift as if her life depended on it, not even bothering to acknowledge Clarice or anything that the witch attempted to say as Hermione darted for freedom. 

Pansy was already seated at the cafe when Hermione arrived, their beverages and lunches already set out on the table. Pansy had one leg crossed over the other, causing her black pencil skirt to hug her thighs in all the right places. Her blouse was a dashing burgundy color, and her lips matched to a T. 

“Someone was excited to see me!” Hermione couldn’t help the light laugh that bubbled up from somewhere in her heart. Pansy looked up from her fingernails and offered Hermione a soft smile, and that was when she saw the bags beneath her friend’s eyes. “Are you alright?”

“It’s been a stressful couple of days,” Pansy stood to hug Hermione, pulling her in as if she needed the hug more than usual. Hermione gave herself over to the embrace and was happy to hug Pansy for as long as she needed. After a few moments, they broke away and took their seats. 

“I could say the same,” Hermione reached for her latte and sipped at it gingerly. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Pansy to get her the proper thing, just that she didn’t trust just anyone with ordering her coffee. Of course, the latte was smooth and the right amount of bittersweet with a hint of caramel. “The Ministry is getting busier by the day, it seems.”

Pansy picked at her rye toast and pursed her lips. Her hair wasn’t as sleek or shiny as normal and Hermione could spot a few dead ends. The girls stumbled over small talk, Hermione wanting to pry but respecting Pansy’s avoidance of serious conversation. Pansy was excited for summer weather and photoshoots being more than torture. She didn’t understand how models could stand outside in early spring, half-naked and goosebump-less. Hermione nodded in agreement as she nibbled away on her sandwich. 

“So, how’s Draco doing?” Hermione asked once Pansy’s plate had been cleared of its toast. Pansy chuckled and rolled her eyes at the same time, which was never a good sign. 

“He’s, um…” Pansy leaned back in her seat and picked at a fingernail. “He’s good. You know him--impulsive and grandiose. He just gained a contract with a distribution company in Scotland.  _ Disrobed _ will start making its way through the Scottish market by the end of the summer.”

Hermione nodded and stared down at her nearly empty latte. Once again, she found herself wanting to spend hours sitting with Pansy in that little cafe hounding her with questions about Draco. She felt as if she knew loads about him--tidbits of his family and the magazine; the fact that he used to go boating with his father in his youth; his preference of horseback riding over flying on a broom. But, beyond that, she had little knowledge of his preferences; likes, dislikes, triggers. She knew  _ of _ him but didn’t  _ know _ him. 

“That’s exciting,” Hermione offered up what she hoped was a supportive smile. “I’m happy for him, and you guys. That has to be exciting.”

Pansy shrugged and shifted the conversation to Hermione and her work. The witch nodded earnestly while she sipped her coffee, eyes not once leaving Hermione’s face. It was easy to forget sometimes that the two hadn’t been lifelong friends. Sip-nod-sip-nod, Pansy remained attentive for the ten or so minutes that Hermione rambled on. 

Half-way through her story about a particularly boring follow-up meeting, Hermione remembered her conversation with Harry. She stirred latte number two with her spoon and bit at her bottom lip. 

“I also had a rather interesting conversation with Harry this week,” Hermione released the spoon and watched as it spun a few times in the tall glass. “I don’t know if I’m allowed to talk about it yet. Honestly, I’m not even sure if Ginny knows.”

“You’re not going to keep me in suspense, are you?” Pansy asked. “Gryffindors and their over explanations of everything. It’s amazing that so many of you work in the DMLE.”

Hermione laughed and tried to appear at ease. It wasn’t Pansy’s fault that she felt as if her life was running away from her. 

“The Wizenmagot might be changing,” Hermione took a deep breath. “And they might ask me to help spearhead the change.”

Pansy giggled and clapped a few times, her eyes glowing for the first time that afternoon. 

“Congratulations! It seems that Harry and Shacklebolt really are moving the Ministry forward. What kind of changes?” 

Hermione wasn’t prepared for Pansy’s immediate questions. She’d expected a cheers and perhaps congratulations. Suddenly, Hermione felt like quite a bad friend for not expecting Pansy to truly care. Explaining the Muggle criminal justice system was surprisingly easy and Pansy grew even more excited as Hermione went on. She agreed that Hermione was the perfect person for a job like that, and who cared if she didn’t have a formal legal education. She cared and that was enough for Pansy. 

By the end of their lunch, Hermione had almost forgotten that she had spent much of her week thinking about Draco. The residual feeling of longing had been replaced with one of general cheer. The two witches hugged each other goodbye and Hermione took her time walking back to the Ministry. 

It was possible, Hermione allowed, that she could be good at a job like that. Harry had apparently thought so. Witches and wizards passed her as she made her way down the street, and she took her time imagining what it would be like to prosecute someone. Could she handle looking at them and suggesting what their punishment should be on behalf of the Ministry and all of Wizarding Britain? 

She let the thoughts carry her right back up to her office. Clarice smiled at her when she stepped off the lift and handed her a memo. Hermione took it graciously and paused to compliment her dress. 

* * *

Someone knocked on Draco’s bedroom door and he could hardly bring himself to look up. He was sprawled out across his bed, arm hanging over the edge and his head barely on the pillows. What day it was didn’t matter; nor did it matter if the sun had managed to rise while his curtains were pulled shut. Nothing mattered. 

He’d spent far too much money on a drunken misadventure. He didn’t know what it was about Hermione that made him feel impulsive and unable to move at the same time. She consumed most of his waking thoughts, in good and bad ways. Right then, he was trying to find any piece of her that might have been left in his bed. If he closed his eyes and tried hard enough, Draco was sure that he could smell her in the pillows. 

Another knock elicited a soft groan from between Draco’s lips. The door opened and Draco was met with the sound of Theodore’s confident steps making their way toward him. 

“Good afternoon.”

Draco half-opened his eyes to watch Theo casually make his way to the window. He pulled the curtains back enough to let a small slip of light wash over part of his figure. 

“The bloody hell do you want?” Draco whispered, unable to lift his head to speak. Something tickled the back of his shoulder; the want to punch Theo in the face. He couldn’t help it--there was something about the man who used to be his closest friend that made him absolutely mad some days. 

“Do you know what day it is?” Theodore raised an eyebrow and turned to face Draco. He let the curtain fall back into place and put his hands in his pockets. 

“Does it matter?” Draco asked, slowly being pulled from his two-day slumber. 

“It’s Friday.” Mischief was smeared all over Theo’s face. “I think that we should do something this weekend.”

A headache had been making Draco’s vision blurry since he slid off the fountain back in France. His brain felt as if it was a tennis ball, ricocheting against the inside of his skull with the smallest of movements. Theodore’s usually tolerable voice was like a tennis racket, sending his brain spinning even faster. 

“Plan whatever bloody party you want,” Draco reached for the blankets, but his fingers couldn’t grasp them tight enough. Maybe if he could bury himself beneath the covers the world would stop turning. “Just don’t invite me.”

Theodore giggled. 

“Can I invite Hermione Granger, then?” He asked. A wicked smile flashed across his face, and Draco wished that he had the strength to tear it off. “That is if she’s still alive. One would hardly know these days.”

“Get the fuck out of my room,” Draco attempted to growl. “Get the fuck out.”

Theodore held his hands up in mock-surrender and winked before exiting back to the hall. Draco wanted to vomit. If he could get rid of everything tearing his chest apart, he could perhaps get out of bed. Forget chasing Theodore and his arrogant self throughout the mansion; Draco had other places to be. 

Slowly, he pulled himself up and reached for the charm on his bedside table. He called for Pansy and asked that she get in touch with Narcissa; he needed a visit. She sounded tired when she picked up her charm, and Draco nearly felt guilty for asking her to do one more thing. He hadn’t left his bedroom in days and could only imagine what kind of state the magazine was in. 

By the time he’d pulled himself together enough to dress in a pair of simple black slacks and a simple mint button-up, Narcissa was expecting him for tea. Draco smoothed out his hair in the full-length mirror, hoping that he didn’t appear too disheveled. He was already swallowing his pride and going to his mother; the last thing he needed was Narcissa attempting to make him stay for a few days. 

Draco stepped into the fireplace in his bedroom and tossed the Floo powder onto the ground. Within moments he was stepping into the sitting room at her own French estate and almost falling over a house-elf. 

“Darling, do be careful,” Narcissa’s laugh had a sing-song lilt to it that calmed Draco’s nerves. He righted the house-elf and patted her on the head before making his way toward his mother. “How is my baby boy?”

Narcissa’s arms tenderly wrapped themselves around Draco. Even though he was quite a bit taller than her, she never stopped being the one to embrace him. Perhaps that was a gift that all mothers had--the ability to never stop holding their children. 

“Would I be here if everything were okay?” Draco asked into her shoulder. As he pulled back and straightened himself out, Draco took in the feeling of Narcissa’s warm beige and burgundy sitting room. The entire estate was marble, granite, and gold offset with the softest touches of wine and red. Narcissa patted Draco on the cheek before pulling away. 

“Sometimes I wish happiness was enough for a son to visit his mother,” she lightly rolled her eyes at him. “Come, let’s have tea.”

In the center of the coffee table was a tea set and enough finger sandwiches and pastries to cater to a small event. Draco didn’t realize how hungry he was until his eyes landed on a particularly tart looking lemon pastry and his mouth started to water. He sat down beside Narcissa on the couch, reaching for the tart and eating it in two bites. 

Narcissa watched with mild amusement while Draco ate nearly an entire tray of sandwiches and drank two cups of tea. He was on his third when she finally cleared her throat to get his attention. A raised eyebrow told him to start talking. 

“I bought a property in France this week.” Draco picked up his teacup so that he had something to look at besides his mother’s knowing gaze. 

“I know,” she responded nonchalantly, sipping at her own tea. When Draco’s expression changed from one of discomfort to mild skepticism, she waved him off with a flick of her wrist. “Don’t act surprised. I’m…  _ acquaintances _ with the realtor who sold it to you.”

If Draco had been in any other kind of headspace, he would have wanted a clarification on the term acquaintances. He knew little about what Narcissa got up to in France, but he’d heard through the grapevine that she was living life to the fullest in every sense of the term. Try as he might, Draco couldn’t feel bad for his father. He’d made his choices, and now he and Narcissa were free to make theirs. 

Only, Draco was absolute shit at making decisions. That was why he’d showed up in her sitting-room anyway; he needed a mother’s advice. 

“Does everything ever stop feeling like too much?”

Narcissa set down her cup and folded her hands in her lap. 

“I’m afraid not dear. The only thing you can do is follow your instinct. You’re a smart young man, I’m sure there isn’t a single problem you can’t solve.”

Before he could stop himself, Draco scoffed. If only Narcissa knew how impossible one particular problem was to solve. 

“I didn’t buy the estate just to buy it. I bought it because of someone;  _ for _ someone. But, I’m afraid she’s not interested in it. Or me, for that matter.”

Despondency didn’t sound good in Draco’s voice, but he couldn’t help it. Hermione was the very kind of witch he’d never seen himself finding, and he couldn’t figure out how to keep her. He didn’t even know if he had her. At one point, perhaps, she had been his. 

“Is this the girl you’ve been seeing for the last few years?”

Draco almost dropped his teacup. He set it down before taking a steadying breath. 

“What?”

“Pansy and I exchange letters sometimes,” Narcissa shrugged. She rolled her eyes when Draco once again looked as if he was ready to throw himself from a balcony. “It’s the only way I can keep up with you--it’s not like you write me.”

Fantastic. Pansy was passing notes with his own mother, keeping her updated on his well-being and recreational activities. The amount of knowledge that Pansy could have passed was incalculable. 

“Has she told you who it is?”

That would make everything easier. If he knew Pansy, and Draco thought he did, he was sure she would have given Narcissa every little detail. She would have known the moment Draco decided to invite Hermione to the mansion, and she would have been planning a get-your-shit-together-speech for years. 

“No, she said you’d tell me if and when the time is right.” Draco wasn’t sure if his mother’s words made him feel better or worse. “Something about you not really knowing how to court women and Pansy not wanting me to get attached if things didn’t work out.”

Draco let himself collapse back into the couch as he massaged at his temples. He wanted to melt into the fabric and never be seen or heard of again. 

“Are all of you women in some kind of plot to drive me insane?”

After all, that was the only solution. Next, he was going to find out that Pansy and Hermione saw each other for tea every other day. That would be the cherry on top of his ultimate demise. The thought almost made him laugh. Every time he imagined Pansy and Hermione being more than casual acquaintances he almost lost it. 

“Please, we’ve all got more important things to worry about than whatever poor girl you’re attempting to woo. Have you told her how you feel about her?”

That was the million-dollar question, wasn’t it? How he felt about her. He didn’t bloody know how he felt about her. He knew that he liked her and that she was the most beautiful and intelligent witches he’d ever met. He knew that she was a stronger witch than he was wizard; and that she loved pomegranate passion ice cream. He knew that she sometimes got sad when they passed pet shops and there were cats sitting in the window, staring out with wide eyes at passersby. He knew that much. 

“I don’t even know how I feel.”

Something tickled the back of his mind as he said those words. It was a faint memory, pulled along by the smell of early summer and golden brown hair shimmering in the sunset. He was staring down at her at the end of his drive, and she was trying not to reach out to touch him one last time. He’d known how he felt then, hadn’t he?

“It seems you do know how you feel. You just have to tell her before she gets tired of waking up alone.” 

Before Draco could say another word, Narcissa was standing up from the sofa and reaching out for his hand. A sudden look of determination and excitement had come over her face. 

“Now, let me show you what I’ve done with the conservatory this season. Then we can have dinner and you can consider staying for a few days while I put some weight back on those youthful shoulders of yours.”

He let himself be pulled off the couch and led down the hall as a soft smile tried to fight its way onto his lips. He knew that he wouldn’t be staying for more than a few hours--he couldn’t, not with the magazine wasting away in his absence--but the idea of spending at least the evening with his mother wasn’t the most awful thing he’d done. She would spend her entire evening fawning over him, asking a million questions, and after she got tipsy she’d try to get him to sing with her like he did when he was younger. They’d spend hours by the piano together, he on her lap while she played, and that was how he’d discovered magic. 

* * *

Hermione waited until the workday was over before she approached Harry’s office. Part of her wanted it to be vacant, but another part was relieved when he opened it with a flick of his wand. His office was more cluttered than Hermione’s; chaotic thoughts and case maps were laid out on every available surface. On the wall, breaking up a wonderful collage of their Hogwarts days and Ginny, were more drawings and notes about different cases. Harry was bent over his desk, staring at photographs. 

“I didn’t know we had an appointment,” Harry quipped without looking up from his work. Hermione cleared her throat and entered the room, hoping to push past his surly greeting. She’d never admit it, but she felt as if she deserved the treatment at least a little. 

“I’ve switched to an open-door policy,” she attempted a joke as she sat down in one of the chairs facing his desk. Harry looked up at her as if she was some sort of cauldron, bubbling over and ready to explode even though she felt at ease. “Can we talk?”

Harry set down his quill and leaned back into his seat. Hermione picked at her skirt before starting. 

“I think that, if I was offered the position,” she took a deep breath. Two daring blue eyes simmered in her mind, threatening to bring the sadness back from the bottom of her lungs. “I would take it.”

Hermione waited while her words settled themselves in Harry’s mind. She watches as his face shifted from one of mild disbelief to hesitant optimism. 

“I’ll let Kingsley know,” he smiled at her. It was the first genuine smile that he’d showed her in what felt like months, and Hermione returned it with one of her own. “Ginny was asking about you, by the way.”

“I was actually going to ask if you two wanted to come over for dinner sometime next week,” Hermione chewed on her bottom lip. “I know that you guys are quite busy, but it’d be my pleasure.”

“I’m sure she’ll say yes,” Harry began to smile brightly. “I’ll have her owl you when I get home.”

They exchanged a few more pleasantries before Hermione decided it was time for her to head home. After all, Friday nights were the perfect evenings to spend curled up in bed with Crookshanks and a good book. She hadn’t spent time reading in ages; perhaps she would pick up the science fiction novel she’d found in a Muggle bookstore. It had been sitting on her bedside table collecting dust for far too long. 

Less than twenty minutes later Hermione was home and laughing as Crookshanks nearly attacked her the moment she stepped through the front door. She scooped him up in her arms and kicked the door shut, enjoying the feeling of him nuzzling into her neck as she carried him to the kitchen. By six, both Hermione and Crookshanks were fed. A bath was calling Hermione’s name and she gave herself over to the feeling of floating in warm water surrounded by lavender scented bubbles. 

While she hummed to herself in the bathroom, a glass of white wine in one hand, an owl quietly flew into her kitchen to deliver a small, black envelope. The creature was in and out before Hermione had time to realize that he’d been there at all. Inside of the envelope was an invitation to the mansion for a “weekend to remember” hosted by Theodore Nott. The movement had captured Crookshank’s attention, and he jumped up onto the kitchen table to investigate the mysterious object. 

As most cats do, Crookshanks batted it onto the floor. When it didn’t move, he jumped down to look closer. He scratched and bit at it a few times, half-interested in playing with it. Before Hermione was even out of the bath, the envelope was torn to almost pieces and lost forever beneath the couch in her living room. 

With her hair wrapped in a towel, Hermione re-filled her wine glass and rummaged through her refrigerator for something to snack on. She’d stolen a piece of chocolate cake from the Ministry’s cafeteria the day before, and it caught her eye after a few moments of searching.

For the rest of the evening, Hermione let herself get lost in the Muggle world of science fiction as she got pleasantly tipsy and enjoyed the cake. She ate all of it, taking great care to scrape the icing off the packaging.

Crookshanks eventually made himself comfortable at Hermione’s feet, and he stayed there until she turned out the light around one in the morning. As she turned over and let herself be lost to sleep, those two blue eyes shimmered in the night sky just outside her window. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello my lovely readers <3 i have finished the playlist and you can find it on my tumblr (draqo-pctter) under the tag ohthedrarry ao3 or you can also search for "much of my life; dramione" on spotify under playlists and you should be able to find it there!! also some of the songs may give a *little* bit of the future plot away but i think it's best to prepare everyone now [insert nervous face here]
> 
> i wasn't going to bring narcissa into this mess, but i felt as if draco just needed a nice little heart-to-heart with his mom while pansy singlehandedly controls his life from the background. if i had a pansy i'd be 20394230948% more productive, i'm just saying


	7. Dinner at Harry and Ginny's

Pansy was sitting out by the pool when Draco got home from Narcissa’s. She was draped over a patio chair, feet swaying over the armrest and her head resting on the table. A half-empty drink rested just inches from her head and a pack of cigarettes sat beside it. He stared at her for a few moments, seeing her for the first time in a few days. Exhaustion was clear in her shoulders; Draco could only imagine what it looked like on her face. 

Quietly, he made his way toward her. She didn’t move when he pulled out the chair next to her and sat down. He took one of the cigarettes and lit it with his wand before leaning back in his seat. 

“My birthday is next month.” 

Draco took a slow drag from the cigarette. For a brief moment he felt as if he was going to die--he hadn’t smoked a cigarette in so long, the feeling of it was almost disgusting. 

“Sometimes I forget that we’re still growing up.”

In the patio lighting, Pansy looked devastated. As Draco pulled on the cigarette and stared at her sideways profile, he couldn’t help but follow the shadows as they fell along her angular face. Her cupid’s bow was just as sharp as her nose and chin; the appearance was softened by the dark circles beneath her eyes.

Draco flicked the ash from his cigarette and settled back into his chair. The evening sky was little help as he searched for what he wanted--what he needed.

“I’ll be twenty-four and have nothing to show for it except a somewhat successful magazine,” Draco dropped the cigarette to the ground and stomped on it with his foot. “And a bunch of useless properties that I can’t even be bothered to visit.”

He wanted to rip off his shirt but settled for unbuttoning the top three buttons. It was a warm May evening, with clear skies and the sounds of grasshoppers and crickets in the background. Draco should have been happy, sitting there with Pansy. They should have been laughing and joking, not both staring off into the horizon in search of answers. 

“What are you going on about?”

She still hadn’t turned to look at him. Draco wanted desperately for her to turn her head, to look at him, and understand how he felt. To see if they were on the same page. 

“Isn’t it obvious?” Draco drummed his fingertips on the patio table. The watered-down liquor in her glass rippled with the vibration of the table. Pansy sighed heavily and closed her eyes.

“With you, things are never obvious.”

A soft breeze made its way across the property, sending Draco’s hair and the leaves in the trees dancing in the moonlight. The pool shimmered and cast long shadows across the patio area. 

_ Hermione would enjoy being here _ , Draco thought to himself. He pictured her sitting in the chair beside him, her left arm wrapped around his right and her head on his shoulder. Pansy would be telling some sort of story, most likely an anecdote from Draco’s childhood, and Hermione would have a tired but engaged smile on her lips. 

“How do I change that?”

Pansy sat up so quickly Draco was afraid that she’d go flying from her chair. Her usually electric eyes were a mixture of calculating and dangerous. She was deciding how brutally honest she wanted to be. 

“Just man up and acknowledge that sometimes you just have to be honest. Put your heart out there,” Pansy stuck out her right hand with the palm extended, “see what comes back.  _ Take risks _ .” She pulled her hand back and slammed it down on the table. “Do something other than moping around this  _ fucking  _ mansion.”

Draco scoffed and crossed his arms over his chest. 

“What’s got you pissed off?”

What had happened to the days when Pansy could just offer him up some half-hearted advice to placate him long enough to fall asleep? He didn’t know why he couldn’t just let Hermione into his private life. It was messy and filled with anxieties that Hermione didn’t deserve. 

“How lovely for you to realize that I’m upset.” Pansy rolled her eyes and turned so that she was facing away from him. 

“I asked a question, Pansy. There’s no reason to--”

Pansy stood with so much force that it knocked over her cup on the table. Light pink liquid splashed across the glass surface and dripped over the edge. 

“Well, you should go ask your  _ Production Manager _ . I’m sure he’d love to tell you all about why I’m bloody pissed off.”

Draco wasn’t sure if Pansy apparated, or if she’d simply stormed away from him at lightning speed. He wasn’t sure if it mattered. 

He collapsed back into the chair and watched as liquor continued to drip off the table. A few droplets had landed right on his shoes. He didn’t care. He could hardly care about whatever Blaise had done to make Pansy so difficult to deal with. All he cared about was the empty feeling square in the middle of his chest. 

* * *

On Wednesday evening, Hermione found herself taking a deep breath and stepping into the small fireplace in her living room. She mumbled Harry and Ginny’s address and tossed the floo powder to the ground with more brattiness than she’d intended. By the time Hermione stepped into their sitting room, she’d told herself  _ you absolutely want to go _ at least twenty times. 

A month or so hadn’t changed the warmth in the Potters’ London home. Wood paneling cast a mid-century glow against warm-toned sofas and armchairs. Down the hallway were an archway and a set of french doors; the archway led to the rest of the house’s four floors while the french doors led to a private garden area. 

“I think that’s her now!” 

Ginny’s voice bounced down the hall and tugged a soft smile onto Hermione’s lips. Footsteps followed the sound and soon enough Hermione was being wrapped in Ginny’s embrace. 

“I was beginning to worry that you weren’t coming!” Ginny giggled into Hermione’s hair. She pulled back from the hug and smiled at Hermione with wine-blushed cheeks. 

“Ginny, I’m ten minutes early,” Hermione laughed. She followed Ginny down the hall and toward the kitchen where Harry was leaning against the counter. A half-empty wine bottle sat beside three wine glasses, two of which were empty, and a copy of  _ Disrobed  _ rested in Harry’s hands. “Harry.”

Harry glanced up from the magazine and smiled. He was relaxed as always outside of the Ministry, wearing a simple t-shirt and jeans. A small wave was offered before he glanced back down at the article he was reading. 

“Did you really purchase a subscription to his magazine?” Hermione couldn’t pinpoint why the idea of it made her so upset. Enchanted spoons stirred away at pots on the stove, and a sponge was washing a pan in the sink. Even the ceiling fan was incredibly loud. 

“I  _ invested  _ in the magazine,” Harry shrugged as if she had no reason to be upset. “So, I got a free subscription.”

“How nice of him,” Hermione dropped herself into one of the chairs at the kitchen table. And I assumed he was only in it for the money.”

“So, Hermione,” Ginny picked up the bottle of wine and two glasses before making her way to the table. She made sure to put herself directly between Harry and Hermione as if she’d be able to stop either of them from thoroughly smacking the other if they wished. “Tell me what you’ve been up to! I feel like we hardly talk these days.”

Hermione stumbled her way through giving Ginny a brief overview of her life in the last few weeks. Spending most nights at home, curled up with Crookshanks and reading. A new bookshop had opened just down the street from her apartment and Hermione had become a regular in a few months’ time. Draco wasn’t left out on purpose; she just simply didn’t have any news about him to share. 

And, even if she did, Harry had no doubt already shared it with Ginny. Since apparently the two of them were so close. 

Hermione and Ginny finish the bottle of wine just as dinner is finished. Harry sets down the magazine to set the table while Ginny grabbed for a second bottle. Hermione remained seated at the table, feeling as if she wasn’t sure what to do with herself. 

Harry and Ginny moved around each other easily, as if they did the same dance every evening. Without speaking the two of them seemed to perform an elegant kind of ballet, both of them finishing their respective tasks at the same time. Finally, Hermione decided to stand up and help with serving. By the time that they were seated, Harry was pushing his glasses back into place and clearing his throat. 

“Oh, Ginny,” his tone was light and airy as if he was about to let her in on a secret. “Hermione might be up for a promotion at the Ministry.”

“That’s exciting!” Ginny beamed, taking a sip from her glass. “Tell me about it!”

Hermione did her best to explain while Harry sat back and studied her carefully. She was beginning to feel as if she was floating out of her seat, getting picked up by the ceiling fan and being tossed out the window. It was difficult to sit there and try to explain a position that didn’t exist yet. 

Ginny didn’t seem to care and nodded along enthusiastically as Hermione spoke. Every once in awhile Harry interjected, providing supporting details or downright correcting Hermione. Between the sounds of the dishes washing themselves in the sink and Harry’s fork scraping his plate, Hermione thought that she was going insane. 

The idea that Hermione wouldn’t take the position was dismissed quickly by Ginny. Her friend saw no reason to not take the promotion. 

“After all, it’s not like you have a husband,” Ginny bumped Harry with her elbow. “Or even kids. Take the position!”

Hermione pursed her lips and stared down at the two mouthfuls of mashed potatoes left on her plate. Every time she closed her eyes to blink, she saw Draco leaning against a wall and staring at her as if she’d disappear at any given moment. She liked him when he looked at her that way: like he’d want to marry her someday. 

It wasn’t that Hermione wanted to marry him, exactly. In fact, picturing a life in which she and Draco were married was a bit difficult. Between his preference for out-of-country meetings and proclivity for the fast life, she wasn’t sure he’d ever be willing to settle down. 

But, what she did want, was to know that the previous two years hadn’t been a waste of time--time that could have been spent, perhaps, finding a wizard (or Muggle, she wasn’t picky) to have a future with. 

Since when did Hermione worry about such frivolous things?

She decided to steer the topic away from herself and back onto her two friends. It’d be easier to ask them questions than answer whatever they felt compelled to ask her. 

“Are there kids in your future?” Hermione raised an eyebrow and reached for her wine glass. She could act lighthearted and nonchalant for at least another hour or so. 

Before Harry could even process her question, Ginny was reaching for his hand and blushing a vibrant shade of red. 

“We’ve been…” She glanced at him. “Talking about trying. Haven’t we?”

“Mhm,” Harry nodded and set down his fork. He was looking everywhere else except at the two girls sitting in front of him. “Sure we have.”

“I really want two girls,” Ginny giggled. “Harry wants boys, though.”   
“I said that I didn’t have a preference.”

Ginny rolled her eyes and released his hand. 

“He’s too attached to partying at the mansion every weekend,” Ginny reached for the wine bottle. Hermione felt like she was going to pass out. 

She hadn’t been invited to a party at the mansion since Mid-March, and it was nearing June. Pansy had never mentioned any parties, nor had Draco. Hermione stared down at her plate and tried to remember how many weeks it had been. Nearly ten, although she was far too tired to try and count very hard. 

Rather than picturing Draco staring at her adoringly, Hermione pictured him on the lounge chairs by the pool with Alice draped over his lap. The rest would be fanned out around him like some kind of playboy halo. 

A silence fell across the room; even the dishes were silent in the drying rack. Hermione couldn’t bring herself to look up and make eye contact with either Harry or Ginny. They hadn’t told her about the parties, either. 

“Hermione, I--” Ginny paused, chewing on her bottom lip. “Draco hasn’t been at the parties, either. I didn’t realize you didn’t know.”

Hermione’s eyebrow raised itself before she could stop it. 

“What?”

Ginny exhaled, clearly pleased with Hermione’s reaction. The next ten or so minutes were taken up by Ginny explaining that the parties are mostly being thrown by Theodore and Blaise; they’re wilder than they were before. Draco hadn’t been to a party since the week before he left for France, perhaps even before that. Ginny couldn’t remember, and Harry was staying dangerously silent. 

So, perhaps Draco wasn’t sleeping around with Alice and the girls. But, if he wasn’t at the parties, where was he? Hermione couldn’t picture him staying cooped up in his room while Theodore and Blaise trashed the property. 

Harry cleared his throat. 

“Theodore asked about you,” he said slowly, watching Hermione’s reaction. “A few weeks ago.”

Their fireplace was only down the hall--perhaps not even twenty paces. Hermione could make it there before Harry had a chance to grab her. 

_ Theodore.  _

For the first time since Draco invited her up to his office and confessed his true intentions for inviting her to the mansion, Hermione let the image of Theodore Nott ease its way from her memory. Over the sound of the ceiling fan, she could make out the faintest whisper of his voice--as smooth and confident as the handshake he’d greeted her with. 

_ “You get invited to a rich bachelor’s mansion, and you insist on sitting by yourself outside? Doesn’t sound like the Hermione Granger the  _ Daily Prophet _ writes about.” _

He’d been cautious in approaching her as if she was some sort of unmarked potion simmering away in a cauldron. In the dim patio lighting, small shadows were cast across his hazel eyes by the water in the pool. They’d been younger that night; more innocent. Hermione had been more innocent, at least. Lately, she’d begun to feel as if she was anything except absolutely messy and unkempt. Crying at work and ignoring her friends, as if that was a proper way to spend one’s time. 

She couldn’t speak to Theodore’s innocence, either before or after, but that evening they had been young and honest and intimate.  _ What kind of guy are you? _ she’d asked him. His eyes had softened as he stared down into the water, confident yet broken, picking away at a fingernail.  _ The kind that doesn’t deserve anything _ , he’d answered. 

Hermione couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen Theodore. She had to have seen him at least a few times since the morning after their adventure in the Game House; since the morning Draco kissed her. The mansion was big, but the property was quite contained. It seemed impossible that Draco had managed to keep them apart for such a long period of time without her noticing. 

_ Theodore.  _

“Don’t tell him anything,” she said slowly. “I’m very nearly done with the lot of them.”

Nostalgia for a simpler time put aside, who was Theodore to go around asking her friends about her? They’d shared two nights with each other two years before, and he’d gotten punched by his best friend over it. For him to think that she would, for any reason, pursue anything with him was absolutely ridiculous. 

Wasn’t it?

Another thirty or so minutes passed before Hermione left, but she couldn’t remember a word of the remaining conversation. There was little doubt in her mind that she was beginning to have a psychotic breakdown. How had something as trivial and irrelevant as boys managed to get in the way of her happiness? In any other circumstance, Hermione would have been excited about the possibility of re-working the Wizenmagot. Bringing about fair trial and change had been something that she’d championed from the very beginning, and the opportunity was tossing itself into her arms. 

But, the very idea of _ another job _ with  _ more responsibilities _ in another department that she  _ didn’t much like _ made her want to rip the chandelier above Harry and Ginny’s table from the ceiling. 

Who the bloody hell had Hermione become? That was the question that she asked herself as she bid Harry and Ginny goodbye and tossed Floo powder to the ground. Crookshanks attempted to interrupt her consideration as she stepped into her living room. It wasn’t his fault that she was feeling utterly miserable and out of control. 

A few minutes later, the cat was making his way through dinner and a few treats while Hermione went to the bathroom and drew a bath. The number of bubbles that it would take to ease her tension was unknown, but she went for the maximum number of bubbles. She grabbed a bottle of wine from the kitchen and lit six candles. Anything to make the tension in her temples go away. 

* * *

Draco had been sitting at his desk since he’d woken up that morning. Sleep left him around five, before the sun was even up, and he paced his bedroom for approximately fifteen minutes before making his way to his office. It was nearing seven in the evening, and all that he’d done was write the same letter over and over, in as many ways as possible. 

What he wanted to say was:

_ Hermione, _

_ I know it’s impolite to ask for birthday presents, but this year I feel like I want to make my intentions clear. I’ve been smitten with you since the day you punched me in the face. No, honestly, before that. The moment I saw you on the Hogwart’s Express. No--when I saw you at the station.  _

_ Somewhere in the last _ ~~ few months ~~ _ year we’ve lost ourselves. I’m trying desperately to get us back--to get you back--but I’ve got no idea how. You’re always the one with the answers; you’ve always got a plan. What’s your plan to get us out of this? Please tell me. I’m dying without you.  _

_ I bought a house in France. I’m not saying that I did it for you; I’m saying that it’s something I want to share with you. Come away with me and pretend that nothing else matters.  _

_ I love you.  _

_ Draco _

What he’d managed to come up with instead was:

_ Hermione, _

_ Everything hurts and I want to run away from all of this with you. _

Twelve hours had come to pass, and he had nothing to show for it except one silly line and a mountain of crumpled up parchment covering the floor. Draco tossed his quill onto the desk and sighed. No amount of rubbing his temples eased the pressure that had been mounting since noon. 

Pansy had been missing in action for days. He hadn’t gotten around to asking Blaise what exactly he’d done to make her so upset. Pansy hardly left the mansion, and he couldn’t bring himself to imagine where she would be if she wasn’t there. However, he also hadn’t left his bedroom or office since returning from his mother’s. Instead, he had food brought to him on his usual schedule and slaved away over the magazine as best he could. Pansy had to be nearby, as all of his communications and meetings ran as efficiently as always. 

There was absolutely no reason that writing a damned letter to Hermione should be so difficult. He’d done it hundreds of times before. Once, it had been so easy to scribble away mindless thoughts to her in the middle of the night and send them off. She’d wake up to them and owl him back as soon as she got to work, and soon enough they’d be setting out on another adventure. 

Had she kept them? If so, could she give them back? He needed a template of some kind. Without one, telling her how he felt seemed impossible. His right hand was smudged with ink from hours of scribbling out and underlining words. Useless words that had no actual meaning. Nothing of any substance, or anything worthy of Hermione Granger. 

Draco closed his eyes and tried to picture her. He could see faint flashes of her hair, wild and untamed, spilling out. Her smile was all challenge and daring; the kind that would make any man do anything she wanted him to do. At least, Draco would follow her to the end of the earth if it meant making her happy. That was all he wanted: to make her happy. To exist with her and her alone; always. Throw everything else away. 

But, he couldn’t tell her that. That was irrational, and overall not a good idea. After all, he was a young, up-and-coming heir to an ancient lineage of impressive men, trying to make his name in the magazine business. In a Wizarding society, no less. And Hermione was… she was doing things at the Ministry. And those things had to be incredibly important, or she wouldn’t be doing them. 

His eyes landed on a small photograph that sat on the corner of his desk. Hidden behind a small potted fern was a framed photograph of Hermione. Pansy had taken the photograph somewhere in Greece. In the picture, Hermione was wearing a navy blue bikini and splashing in the Mediterranean. Looking back, Draco might have said he was in love then. If he hadn’t, he would have been damn close. How had they experienced so much in such a small amount of time? 

There was no way that a letter would suffice. Hermione deserved more than lawless scribbles on a page; she required pilgrimage. Draco was sure that he remembered her address, and did the only thing that made logical sense: quickly apparated without even changing out of his pajamas. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, school + work = i am dying on the inside. i also had to buy a new laptop because my MacBook decided that it was going to die on me, as if that was allowed. 
> 
> I'm hoping to be back to posting regularly soon; life has just been so crazy :( thank you to everyone who doesn't hate me yet, you're much appreciated


	8. Some Kind of Dream

Hermione had never realized that one of Crookshank’s toys had gotten lodged beneath her coffee table. There was quite a bit of dust under there too, and a few torn up pieces of paper. As she hung upside down from the couch, her arms folded in her lap, she tried to make out the torn writing on the parchment. Minutes ticked by and more blood rushed to her brain; she was starting to feel lightheaded. Good. 

Time was passing as if the future had nowhere to be. Days felt like years, and she wasn’t even sure how long she’d been hanging from her couch like that. It could have been five minutes, or five months--there really was no way of knowing. 

Her hair was wet and the smell of lavender soap clung to her skin, so she’d just gotten out of the bath. The wine bottle had been empty since the water had gotten cold. Classical music spun its way through the living room from the small radio sitting atop the fireplace. Hermione’s parents had never made her learn to play an instrument. Some nights, she found herself wishing she could play the piano. That way, she could sit down and play out the way that she was feeling; let her troubled heart take to the air and glide through time and space. 

She wondered if Draco knew how to play the piano. That was a question she’d always wanted to ask: just how aristocratic were pureblood wizards? Did they spend their free time lounging about, playing instruments and writing letters like they were in a Jane Austen novel? Or, did they lead a somewhat regular life with a larger than normal bank account?

Draco sure seemed to have endless amounts of cash. Hermione thought about Narcissa, somewhere in France, and living an absolute dream of a life. Even Draco, a few odd miles away, was lounging about a massive property, probably not even thinking about her. 

Theodore might be there too. Where would he be on a Wednesday evening at the mansion? Perhaps he was waist-deep in the pool, an arm around one of the girls--probably Alice--hours into drinking and snorting more cocaine than any wizard should on a weeknight.  _ Theodore asked about you _ . Hermione didn’t give a rat’s ass if he’d asked after her or not. He was just as arrogant as Draco and should be the least of her concern. 

If Hermione had any less self-control, she would have screamed into the space beneath her coffee table. Instead, she merely winced to herself. Nights like those were the worst: unable to sleep, and lacking the attention span to read, she’d settled for staring into the void while hanging upside down. 

Since her childhood, Hermione had been known to hang upside down when she couldn’t bring herself to focus. An overactive mind meant that she was bad at making decisions, which in turn made her feel out of control. So, to combat that, she filled her brain with blood instead of thoughts. The dizzy sensation replaced all of the leaden thoughts, leaving her lightweight and able to consider life’s most puzzling mysteries. 

The first time the doorbell rang, she thought she’d imagined it. A soft chuckle had escaped her lips while the rest of her body remained still. How funny would it be if someone was actually standing in front of her apartment at whatever time it was? To picture someone standing on her doorstep, wild with the need to see her--it was absurd. 

By the third ring, Hermione allowed herself to slide off the couch and onto the floor. She stared at the hallway and cocked her head to the side, reality slipping back into her consciousness. 

Someone was really ringing the bell to her apartment. The clock was across the room and blurry, but it read something close to midnight. Was this another one of those “mysterious ice cream” situations? Or, had something bad happened to someone? Were Harry and Ginny okay? Was it Pansy?

Not once during the minute or so that it took Hermione to stand up did it occur to her that Draco Malfoy was nervously running a hand through his hair and staring at the door to her building. Slowly, Hermione collected herself and slid into the slippers sitting by the door. Crookshanks remained seated on the couch, watching her as if she was insane for checking the door that late at night. 

The length of the stairs had also never been realized by Hermione until she descended them in a trance-like state, feeling as if it took her nearly forty minutes to descend them all. There were twenty-something of them, each one leading her closer to a grand common entryway. Her downstairs neighbors’ doors were on either side of the entrance, two potted plants separating them from the front door. 

Hermione didn’t check the peephole before turning the handle. Instead, she allowed the door to swing open and reveal Draco halfway down the steps, muttering to himself that he’d been crazy to go there. She watched until he got to the bottom of the steps before speaking for the first time since she’d gotten home. 

“Hey.”

* * *

Draco had done it. He’d finally managed to make Hermione hate him so much that she was leaving him to fend for himself on the street. Forget the idea that perhaps she was asleep or not even home at all. After all, the dim light in her living room could just be a thing that she does when she leaves so that potential burglars think she’s home. A few of his Muggle-born friends had mentioned that was a thing their parents did sometimes, and it seemed to fit Hermione’s general behavior pattern. 

_ General behavior pattern _ . What the fuck was Draco smoking?

“Absolute idiot.”

Draco crossed his arms over his chest as he made his way down the steps, shaking his head at the ground. He continued to mumble out loud to himself, not content to simply curse himself to oblivion in internal silence. 

“How could you think this was a good idea?”

_ Just pop on over to Hermione’s house and see if she’ll open the door for me. As if I’m someone who deserves her time and mental space.  _

Draco felt like he wanted to die. Not die, necessarily--just set the entire street on fire. 

“This is why she doesn’t like you.”

_ I’m too god damn impulsive. _

“Hey.”

It wasn’t that the last step moved or disappeared beneath his feet; it was that the sound of her voice was enough to make him miss it by a few inches and nearly fall flat on his face. 

Slowly, Draco turned around to face her. Hermione stood in the doorway, wearing nothing but a large t-shirt and slippers that had to be as old as they were. Her hair was knotted as if she’d showered and then gone right to sleep. Had he woken her up?

“Hi.”

_ Good job, mate. Real good job.  _

He couldn’t bring himself to say anything else. Her eyes were watery like she’d been crying, and all that Draco wanted to do was close the space between them and wrap her up in his arms. How selfish of him to think that he was the only one of them to be feeling like everything was falling apart. 

_ How selfish of you to assume she’s crying over you at all.  _

“Are you going to stand in the street all night?” Hermione spit the words out as if she’d been holding them in all evening. At first, Draco thought that he’d imagined her saying them at all. When she kept staring at him as if he was some kind of stray cat that she’d been trying to coax inside, he cleared his throat. 

“I wasn’t going to, you know,” Draco pursed his lips and tried to think of a reason for not marching into her apartment with abandon. “Invite myself in.”

Hermione rolled her eyes at him, and Draco wasn’t sure how it made him feel. He felt naked, standing in front of her like that. The way that she was looking at him made him feel completely inadequate and not worth the least amount of her time. 

“No, but you came here,” Hermione cocked her head to the side. One of her hands was still on the door, as if she was prepared to slam it shut at a moment’s notice. “Which means you want to at least stand on the doorstep instead of on the street.”

The corners of Draco’s mouth wanted to lilt into a small smile, but he bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself in check. Hermione made him feel electric and numb at the same time--like he was dying but being revived by some kind of magic. 

“Are you asking me to stand on the doorstep or come inside?” He raised an eyebrow at her. She was toeing the line between flirtatious banter and purposeful chastisement and pulling him along for the ride. 

“Do you have to make everything so difficult all of the time?” 

If a small sparkle hadn’t lit itself in her eyes, Draco would have simply melted into the sidewalk at her words. The honesty of her question reminded him why he’d rung her doorbell in the first place: he didn’t know why he made everything so difficult. He just knew that he needed her in whatever way she’d give herself to him, and for however long she was willing to stay. 

“I just want to be respectful of your space.”

_ You sound like a right pansy, and I hope that she tells you to fuck off.  _

Draco almost winced at the idea that it would be better for her to tell him to get lost. He wanted her to help him figure out what the bloody hell he was doing. 

“Then respectfully come upstairs while I make some tea.”

Hermione offered him a playful smirk before turning and making her way back up the stairs. Draco hurried to follow her, closing the front door and taking the steps two at a time. She led him through the door at the top of the steps and into a comfortable but small living room. Plants, rugs, and books covered almost every surface. The furnishing was sparse but warm, making Draco think about how pompous his own mansion was. Where Hermione had pictures of herself and her friends, Draco had portraits of sexy witches hung up on the walls; Hermione ate at a small, circular table in her kitchen while Draco made use of an expansive dining room to woo investors and guests of his parties alike. 

Soft greens and yellows against warm wood tones made Draco relax into the feeling of her home. He followed her into the kitchen and stood in the archway, unsure of what to do with himself. Unlike the lemons hanging securely in a basket by the window, Draco felt as if he was falling through time and space. 

How had years passed and he was seeing the full interior of her home for the first time? As Draco made his way to the kitchen table and melted into a chair, that feeling of inadequacy snuck its way back into his throat. 

Something made one of the most animalistic growls that Draco had ever heard, and his eyes landed on the orange ball of aggressive fluff sitting at Hermione’s feet. Hermione busied herself with filling up the tea kettle and putting it onto the stove as if the cat wasn’t sizing Draco up. 

“So, no ice cream this time?” Hermione asked as she lit the stove, turning around to face him. Two sets of eyes--one brown, the other yellow--stared at him as if his answer to Hermione’s question would dictate how much longer he lived. 

“It was a spur of the moment decision,” Draco couldn’t help but cough when the words got stuck in his throat. “I’ll remember for next time. If there is a next time.”

Just a few years prior, flirting with a girl in her kitchen would have been one of the easiest things in the world. Draco would smirk at her from across the room, perhaps offer her up a wink after a particularly charming line of some sort. Hermione took any of the charisma that he’d possessed and threw it halfway across Britain every time she looked at him. 

“Why wouldn’t there be a next time?”

She was leaning against the counter, arms crossed and picking at a fingernail. Her ankles were almost crossed, and the t-shirt had ridden up her thighs a little bit. Draco had to force himself to keep his eyes on her upper half so that he could stay on track. But, when looking at the way her fingers moved as she fidgeted and the way that her hair was wild with knots and abandon, he thought that she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. 

“That’s why I came here.”

Hermione tensed at his words, pausing in her efforts to rip off a hangnail. Between Hermione looking like an absolute goddess and Pansy’s words ringing in his ears-- _ Put your heart out there, see what comes back. Take risks _ \--Draco was sure that he was going to completely and utterly mess things up. But, he had to try.

“Hermione, I know that we’ve never really talked about what this is, or what we are,” Draco took a steadying breath. He wasn’t sure when the room had run out of air; he just knew that, suddenly, he couldn’t breathe. “I just know that I don’t like what we have been. I miss what we used to be.”

He wanted to close his eyes, but he didn’t have the strength to look away from her. She was all skin and hair and the most beautiful thing that he had ever seen. If Draco wasn’t afraid of her shattering the moment he touched her, he would get up and cross the room to her in three quick strides. But, he wasn’t there to take her away; he was there to beg for forgiveness. 

The room held its breath when Hermione finally looked up at him. She was composed, blank--as if she’d been waiting for him to lay it all out so that she could destroy him completely. 

“What do you think we used to be?” 

_ We were heaven; we were what happens when the sun and moon finally meet. Explosions and mistakes and reckless abandon. We were diving into love head first not really bothering to think about what happens when neither of us knows what love is. _

Draco wanted to scream that they were everything that he wanted. But, he couldn’t say that after weeks of silence and a year of falling out of lust. 

“We used to be kids, I think,” Draco fought the urge to stand up. Knowing that he couldn’t touch her was worse than simply not being able to. “Kids who were having fun, not caring about what the future was going to be. We’d fought a war and the chaos finally stopped and you showed up out of nowhere looking so...like you’d found where you belonged,” Hermione raised an eyebrow then, but Draco kept going. “I wanted to be part of that. And you let me.”

Hermione stepped away from the counter but didn’t move much closer. Her eyebrows were furrowed together and Draco could see thoughts flitting their way across her eyes. If he was any less of a man, he might have tried to slip inside and see what she was thinking. He wanted to know if she viewed him as a mistake, or if she’d take pity on him. 

Just the idea of betraying Hermione’s trust in that way was enough to make Draco suddenly feel nauseous. How horrible did he have to be to consider something like that? He didn’t deserve her.

“I didn’t just show up. You had Pansy invite me to the mansion.”

Draco winced. Part of him wanted to point out that, realistically, it didn’t matter if it had been Pansy who delivered the invitation or not. He’d still invited her and Hermione had still arrived. However, Draco was beginning to see just how distant he’d kept himself despite his inability to let her go. 

“You were all over the papers, Hermione.” He didn’t know how to explain to her how it felt to have tried to bury thoughts of caressing her skin and saving her to the furthest recesses of his mind. Draco had thought that he could handle seeing her in the occasional article, but he wasn’t prepared for the front page. “You were all anyone talked about. When I came out of obscurity with a magazine concept, you were on every magazine stand. Every other day it seemed you were making headlines, changing the Ministry, and taking over the world.”

Hermione scoffed. 

“I hardly took over anything.”

Before Draco could stop himself, he smiled. 

“You took over every thought I had that didn’t involve the magazine.”

Something flashed in Hermione’s eyes that Draco had never seen before. For a moment, he worried that she would accuse him of lying. He’d be tossed out of her home and her life, forever. It almost brought him to tears. 

But then, Hermione was slowly making her way toward him as if she was scared that he’d run away if she moved too quickly. 

“Then what happened?” Hermione’s voice was little more than a whisper. Draco couldn’t see anything past the blush on Hermione’s cheeks and the shape of her lips. 

“I don’t know,” he forced out a soft chuckle. “I was hoping you did.”

She was standing inches from him. Draco was suddenly aware of the heat radiating off of her body, and the electric charge building up between them. It took every ounce of self-control that he had to not reach out to grab her hand and bring it to his lips. 

“I just assumed you’d found something-- _ someone _ \--else to occupy your time.”

Hermione’s hand moved in slow motion as she reached out to touch Draco’s cheek. He almost wept with the feeling of her skin on his, shocking him back into his body. Her touch was the first solid thing that he had felt in days. Everything else was numb to the touch as if it didn’t exist at all. 

“There hasn’t been anyone else since the day you arrived at the mansion,” the smell of her was intoxicating, and the t-shirt was riding dangerously high on her thighs. Hermione was standing nearly in between his legs, and the sight of her was absolute torture. “I saw you when you arrived. You came up that driveway with Archie looking nervous and excited, clutching your bag like it was going to keep you from floating away.”

She was leaning in closer, her index finger stroking along his cheekbone toward his ear. 

“I felt like I was walking into some kind of dream.”

Hermione’s lips were dangerously close to Draco’s. To keep from kissing her, he reached up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. As he dropped his hand, he let his fingers trace down her throat to just above her collarbone, where he stopped. 

“I’ve been dreaming since that moment.”

Hermione took a small step closer. 

“Are you waking up?”

Moments passed before Draco was able to give her an answer. He’d come to her for answers, not more questions. If he knew the answers, he would have done things right the first time. He wouldn’t have let them get this far. 

“I don’t want to.”

Hermione’s heart beat erratically beneath his palm, matching his own uneven pulse. 

“Me either.”

Draco couldn’t help himself. He closed the distance between their lips and sighed into the feeling of Hermione twisting her hands in his hair.  _ I love her _ . The thought pulled them closer together; Draco stood and Hermione followed his lead. One moment they were standing beside the kitchen table and the next Hermione was being backed into the countertop. 

Everything was heat and pressure and the smell of whatever bath soap Hermione had used. It smelled like lavender and mint and Draco was sure that it was going to his head and his pants. 

Draco was kissing a trail along her neck, and Hermione was mid-moan when she froze. 

“Wait!” Hermione pulled back, breathing heavily and eyes wild. “Can you turn the stove off for me?”

He paused. Draco didn’t know if he was going to listen and stop to turn off the stove, or if he was going to risk the two of them burning up in flames. 

Hermione rolled her eyes and pushed him back so that she had enough room to reach over and turn the stove off. As she was turning back to face him, Draco was scooping her up into his arms and kissing her with every ounce of infatuation that he had. 

As he carried her down the hall and toward what he remembered to be her bedroom, Draco couldn’t help but feel that same feeling from their first night together. Seeing her standing there, arms tied up and begging for him, he’d been reminded of why he’d wanted to invite her to the mansion in the first place. And, as Draco laid her down in her bed and her hands grabbed at his shirt, he remembered why he’d showed up at her front door. 

“Hey,” Draco gently pulled away and rested his forehead against hers. Hermione’s skin was flushed, her legs still wrapped around his waist. 

“Hi,” Hermione reached up to gently peck his lips. “Is everything okay?”

“Can I-” Draco cleared his throat.  _ Can I just hold you _ sounded childish. Take risks. “Is it alright if I just hold you?”

Hermione smiled and relaxed back into the pillows. Her hands were all over his cheeks and in his hair, gently caressing him. 

“Yes,” Hermione pulled him in for a soft kiss. She unwrapped her legs from around him and shifted so that he could lay down beside her. 

As he wrapped his arms around her, Draco couldn’t help but feel as if he was letting her down somehow by not having sex with her. He couldn’t remember a single time that they had just slept together. 

“This is okay?” he asked, barely keeping himself from wrapping her up in his arms completely. 

“This will always be okay.”

Hermione planted a soft kiss on Draco’s wrist, and that was all that he needed. He let himself relax into the feeling of her breathing and her fingers dancing up and down his forearm. 

  
  


* * *

Draco had been right: the two of them were dreaming. She stared at the mirror on the other side of her room, studying the way that Draco’s arm fell over her hip. His face was buried in the pillows and her hair; his even breathing told her that he’d been asleep for a while. 

Hermione was too scared to sleep. When she slept was when Draco left. He’d quietly slide himself out of her embrace, pull on his clothes, and it would be as if he hadn’t even been there at all. 

She didn’t know what she would do if he tried to leave while she was awake. One half of her wanted to think that she’d confront him; tell him that if he left there definitely would not be another time. But, another half of her knew that she’d stay right there in that bed and pretend to sleep. Tears wouldn’t fall until he was good and gone, and she’d still answer his owl the next time he got around to remembering her. 

The bed shifted as Draco moved onto his back. A heavy sigh escaped his lips, and Hermione felt the weight of the world bearing down on him. Her hip felt naked without his hand resting on it. 

Instinctively, Hermione turned to face Draco and nuzzle into his side. She wrapped her arm around his waist and settled down with her cheek on his collarbone. His arms encircled her completely, and that was when she knew he was awake. That realization hit her even harder than the idea that he could potentially leave her there, alone. 

“If I were to ask you to come away with me for a week or so,” Draco whispered the words as if he didn’t want her to hear them. “Would you say yes?”

Draco’s words reminded her that this was all a dream: the warm feeling blooming in her chest, the urge to close the space between them, and melt into the kind of lullaby that mothers sing to their children before bed. Love had been a stranger to their hungry lips and rushed hands in hair. All that they were was a beautiful delusion--a folly that was sure to have a finite end. 

But, surely it wasn’t wrong of her to indulge in that fantasy a little longer. To pretend that there was an infinity laid out before them, endless and expansive as the love that they could pretend to have for each other. As passionate as the lust that kept them in an endless cycle of which one of them will be the first to wake up. 

“I’ll go anywhere with you,” Hermione gently kissed his chest. 

“I want to go to France,” Draco pressed his lips into her hair, his arms tightening around her ever so slightly. “Would you like that?”

Hermione paused, letting herself get lost in the idea of letting Draco whisk her away one last time. 

“I would love that.”

With a small screech, Crookshanks launched himself into the bed. Hermione hadn’t noticed that he’d been sitting on the windowsill, watching the two of them pretend to be asleep. Draco’s eyes were open wide with what Hermione could only describe as fear; and she thought it was one of the most charming things that she’d ever seen. 

“Don’t tell me that the heir to the Malfoy name is scared of cats?” Hermione chuckled. Draco watched as Crookshanks made his way up the bed and began gently pawing at his chest. 

“Cats? No,” Draco nervously shook his head. “Kneazles? Kneazles, a little bit.”

Crookshanks stared at Draco for a moment before yawning and collapsing onto his stomach. Draco looked to Hermione for help, but she was too busy biting back laughter. 

“I think he likes you.”

Hermione reached out a hand to run it along Draco’s jawline. He took a deep breath and relaxed into the feeling of Crookshanks falling asleep on top of him and Hermione’s skin on his. For a moment, Hermione was overcome with the thought that, even if it damned her, she might love him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *awkwardly clears throat and loosens tie*
> 
> i am so sorry for the month of no updates. my anxiety has been through the roof and i've been doing nothing except homework and waiting for the election to be over. i hope the fact that we're about to head to the castle in France will cheer everyone up. <3


	9. Arrival at Chateau de Nantes

Draco let his left leg bounce erratically beneath the dining room table as he drummed his fingers on the surface. The house-elves had nearly fallen over themselves when he'd appeared in the kitchen at around four in the morning, bleary-eyed and asking for bacon like a five-year-old. Tea still sat piping hot in his cup, and only stray pieces of fruit and waffle remained on his plate. 

He hadn't intended to wake up so early and be ready to start his day. If he were any amount sane, he would have tried to sleep in as long as possible. Hermione would be arriving around ten to accompany him to France. To the estate that he'd just bought. 

Rather than moaning and slamming his head against the table, Draco sipped gingerly at his tea and tried to lose himself in the sounds of the countryside waking up as they filtered in through the window. He shouldn't have been so nervous. This was hardly the first time that he would be whisking Hermione away to a foreign country for even a few days of pretending like he could give her everything she deserved. But, somehow, it felt as if this trip was going to be different. 

Songbirds had begun to gather at a birdfeeder just outside the bay window. They scattered when the sound of a teacup shattering broke up the early morning quiet. Draco turned to see Pansy standing in the doorway, red in the face and staring down at broken china. Nearly a quarter of a century had passed between Draco and Pansy, and that morning was the first time Draco had seen her anywhere near falling apart. Her hair was the opposite of sleek, with knots and split ends sticking out in all directions. Her eyes were just as bloodshot as his own, and she looked as if she hadn't eaten in days. 

"Don't say shit, Draco Malfoy," Pansy grumbled. A house-elf appeared at her feet and began to clean up the mess. She made sure to dry off the fringes of Pansy's vibrant blue robe before handing the witch a fresh cup of tea. 

"Sugar is on the service tray, miss," the elf said before disappearing with a pop. 

Pansy cleared her throat and made her way to the counter beneath the window. She took her time, adding particular amounts of honey and sugar into her tea at a snail's pace. 

"Good to see that you've been eating."

Pansy didn't turn to face him as she spoke. Her shoulders were stiff, and her movements were erratic as if she was up and moving for the first time in weeks. 

"Good to see you at all, Pans."

Draco wouldn't have spoken if he'd known how gruff his words would sound. He cleared his throat and tried to act as if something had just been stuck in his throat. There wasn't enough sugar in his tea, and it'd gone down the wrong pipe. That's what he'd say if Pansy mentioned it. 

But Pansy didn't mention it. 

"How did your conversation with Blaise go?" 

Pansy finally turned to face him, gingerly sipping on her tea and watching his expression with narrowed eyes. Draco pursed his lips and drummed his fingers on the table again, trying to decide how to best avoid having a cup of piping hot tea thrown at his face. Pansy nodded and then made her way to her seat at Draco's right.

"I get it," Pansy sighed as she sat down in the high-backed dining chair. "You've been dealing with your tragedy of a love life."

"It's not that I don't care, Pans," Draco ran a nervous hand through his hair. "You're my longest friend, and--"

"Then you would have gone to Blaise and asked him why he broke up with me when I said I didn't want to get married."

If he had actually gotten a good night's sleep and opted for coffee instead of tea, Draco might have been better prepared to process Pansy's words. Blaise had asked her to marry him. And she'd said no. Draco hadn't even realized that their relationship was that… intense. Was he really such a bad friend that he didn't even realize one of his best friends was in love with the other? And that she'd actually turned him down?

Marriage, children, and a life of leisure--that had always been Pansy's end goal. Her drive for that kind of life was one of the primary reasons that they'd never tied the knot themselves. Draco was far too attached to a life free of needing approval from other people. 

Or was he?

"I'm sorry," Draco sat up straighter in his seat and sipped at his tea for something to do other than sit there with his mouth open. Pansy stood up and made her way back to the service tray, apparently needing more sugar. "Blaise asked you to marry him? And you said no?" 

Pansy rolled her eyes as she slowly stirred her spoon around the teacup. A soft smile danced at the corners of her lips for the briefest of moments. Draco's eyes drifted to the seat usually occupied by Blaise, and he realized that he hadn't seen his friend around the property since their lunch with the Scottish publication rep.

"He didn't give me a chance to explain why I said no. He just," Pansy tapped the teacup with her pointer finger absentmindedly before bringing it to her lips. "Left. He's been staying with his parents, I think." 

For a moment, Draco felt as if he should have stayed in his room. Running into Pansy in the dining room had been a somewhat unwelcome surprise. And if there was one thing that Draco hated, it was a surprise. He'd come out of years of binge drinking and partying with a need for a routine, and he'd created one. Routines meant that surprises were, essentially, nonexistent. Of course, as soon as his routine was trashed in favor of spending his days worrying about if Hermione was still interested in him, surprises started popping up left and right. 

"Can I ask why you said no?"

Pansy sighed with the weight of Draco's question. A few minutes passed in silence before she was able to formulate an answer.

"Because what if we wake up twenty years from now and can't stand the sight of each other?" Pansy's voice was nearly a whisper. Draco felt as if he was a priest holding a confessional. "What if I become nothing more than a bloated, washed up housewife like my mother? What if he gives me the most beautiful children, and I end up hating them so much that I never leave my wing of the house and make them feel as if they'll never be good enough?"

Rather than moving to comfort his lifelong best friend, Draco suddenly found himself imagining Hermione having the same worries. He pictured Hermione sitting alone in her flat, wondering if Draco could ever give her the kind of family and future that she wanted, whatever it was. He could see her talking with Ginny or even Harry, questioning Draco's ability to be a good husband. He was sure that they told her no, he could never be the husband she deserved. Draco was inclined to believe them. 

Slowly, he stood up from his seat. Pansy eyed him carefully as he made his way to her, arms stretched out and waiting for her. She allowed him to pull her into a soft embrace--their first hug in months. Pansy collapsed into him, and Draco held onto her as if he was strong enough to keep her together.

"I believe it was you to told me to put my heart out there and see what comes back," Draco planted a soft kiss on the crown of Pansy's head. She tightened her grip on his waist, her chin digging into his breastbone. "Just like Blaise did. Just like I'm trying to. Don't be afraid of what kind of future you and Blaise might have. Let yourself fall into it, just like you fell in love."

Pansy pulled back to look at Draco, a playful eyebrow raised. 

"Since when did you get all romantic?" she asked. Draco blushed and offered her a smile. Days old mascara sat in the bags beneath Pansy's eyes, and Draco gently rubbed at it with his thumb. 

"Since I spent days trying to write to Hermione only to apparate to her apartment at midnight." Draco shrugged as best he could, with Pansy still wrapped around him. She rolled her eyes and started to break out of the embrace. "I'm taking her to--"

"The stupid castle you bought in France," Pansy's lips finally tugged up into a smile. "Archie told me."

"Do any of you know how to stay out of my business?" Draco asked. Pansy laughed. 

"The only reason you have any business is that we're all in it," Pansy reached up to plant a soft kiss on Draco's cheek. "Now, go get ready for your romantic week away from all of this mess."

Draco couldn't help but blush at her words. He finished off the last of his tea before heading toward the steps. 

"When I get back," he said over his shoulder, "you better be engaged."

Pansy laughed and returned his comment with a wink. 

"Same goes to you." 

* * *

Hermione wasn't quite sure what she'd expected. But, between the way Draco's hand had looked on the Maserati's gear shift and the expansive chateau rising up from the hillside before her, she was sure she'd faint. Three stories of marble blocks rose from the hillside behind a fountain that Hermione could picture in the French Ministry of Magic lobby. 

Draco parked in front of an impressive set of stairs leading to the front door. Archie was already waiting for them, a smile stretched across his face and arms outstretched. He hadn't appeared to age a single day since he'd welcomed Hermione to the mansion, and for that, she was thankful. The Slytherins she found herself surrounded by were guarded and selective with their care; Archie, on the other hand, didn't ask Hermione to barter for his affection. 

With an aristocratic ease that only he could carry, Draco stepped out of the car and walked around it to pull Archie into a brotherly hug. She watched as the two of them exchanged greetings and beamed at one another. Perhaps Draco had been doing just as much moping around his mansion as she'd done in her apartment. 

Once they were finished basking in each other's presence, both wizards turned to look at Hermione. It took a few moments for her to realize that they were staring at her; she was too busy staring up at the castle and wondering just how she'd ended up there. 

"Welcome to Chateau Nantes," Archie said, folding his arms across his chest. He seemed almost proud to be introducing Hermione to the property, whereas Draco looked like a shy schoolboy hiding behind a teacher on the playground. "I hope this one didn't drive too erratically."

She forced herself to let out a light-hearted laugh and open the passenger's side door. Both men immediately began to fight each other for who would help her out of the Maserati. In the end, Draco's hand found Hermione's first, and she let him guide her to her feet. 

"You know him," Hermione quipped, releasing Draco's hand to embrace Archie. "He likes to try and do things he has absolutely no business doing."

Draco rolled his eyes playfully at her, reaching out for her hand the moment it fell to her side. As his thumb ran its way across the back of her hand, she realized that he'd hardly ever taken the time to hold her hand before. It felt lovely to stand there beside him with their fingers intertwined, pulling her back down to earth when all she wanted was to float away.

The group made their way up the front steps and were greeted by wide glass doors nearly three times Hermione's size. Draco seemed nervous as the doors slowly opened to reveal one of the simplest yet most magnificent foyers she had ever seen. He cleared his throat as they stepped inside, using his free hand to scratch at his neck. 

"So." Draco cleared his throat, looking anywhere but at Hermione. "I know that this might not be the most impressive place, but--"

Hermione tugged at his hand and forced him to look at her. A light blush had taken over his usually strong cheekbones, softening his eyes as he gazed back at her. For a moment, she was back in the mansion and feeling his gaze across the party, eyes not once leaving the silhouette of her body against the lights and dancefloor. Draco smiled, and the sparkles that lingered in the corners of his eyes pulled her in like a magnet. Before she could stop herself, Hermione was giggling like a young schoolgirl and practically flinging herself into his arms. 

"It's perfect!" She peppered kisses along his angular cheekbones, landed a soft peck on the tip of his nose, and then gently kissed him on the lips. "Just like you."

Archie said goodbye to the couple and left them with a small bow. A younger Hermione would have peeked through the glass door to see if Archie was driving the Maserati or simply bewitching it somewhere else. But, this wasn't her first foreign trip with the two men, and she was too busy looking at Draco, the marble flooring, and the sky blue wallpaper that decorated the entryway to let something as silly as Archie distract her. 

Following Draco throughout the chateau was like following a child down Diagon Alley around Christmas time. His voice hit octaves that Hermione hadn't known possible, and not once did the tint of blush leave his cheeks. Draco allowed that, while the property only had eight bedrooms, four bathrooms, and a "rather small indoor pool," it made up for it in a sauna, wine cellar, greenhouses, a conservatory, and enough space train, house, and leisurely ride around four hundred horses. 

Marble floors gave way to some of the shiniest hardwood that Hermione had ever seen as they moved further into the house. He started with the main floor, showing her two sitting rooms, a formal dining room, and a massive kitchen with a long table surrounded by wicker chairs. A granite island separated the kitchen table and featured one of the most dutifully stocked wine bars Hermione had ever seen. The kitchen was operated by two house-elves, both of which introduced themselves when the pair arrived. One of them, Ariel, smiled warmly at Hermione and didn't seem too incredibly nervous. Julie, however, seemed younger and not as confident. Hermione found them both charming nonetheless. 

After a few minutes of debating where they would eat their lunch, they finally decided on the back terrace. Draco guided Hermione through a set of glass doors that led to a small patio area that overlooked the property. Hermione could see everything from the stables to the river; each time she blinked, something new appeared on the landscape. Another gardener going about his day, Archie lounging beneath a tree reading a book, a deer making its way down to the water. And, it wasn't that horses were her thing, but she found herself feeling a little empty as she stared at the unused stables. She had wanted to see dozens of horses scattered across the hills, grazing and waiting to be ridden. Watching Draco ride a horse was like watching the cover of a romance novel in real-time: breathtaking and a little exciting. 

Draco took a seat at the patio table while Hermione leaned against the railing and lost herself in the beautiful view. A light breeze sent her curls spiraling in all directions while the sun warmed her shoulders against the chill. Once she was satisfied, Hermione turned to take in Draco, looking relaxed for the first time in months. 

"So, what are your plans for this..." Hermione paused. "Place?" 

Draco chuckled softly as two glasses of red wine appeared on the table. Taking it as her cue to sit down, Hermione joined him. Shoulder length hair looked dashingly good on him, and she didn't know which was more beautiful: the man before her or the castle that they were staying in. 

"I bought it on a drunken whim," Draco winced. Hermione wouldn't have seen if she wasn't so skilled at watching Draco's expressions. "Anything is possible."

"Why this castle?" Hermione sipped at her glass of wine, wanting to know more but afraid of pushing too hard. "Why France?"

The smallest of smiles tugged at Draco's lips. It wasn't much, but it was enough to keep her from feeling as if she'd said something wrong. 

"My mother," Draco said, leaning back in his chair. The breeze sent strands of blond hair flying in every direction, and he struggled to keep it under control. Hermione thought he looked absolutely editorial. "The Blacks have an affinity for France. My mother lives here now, actually. Not here, but nearby--I think I could be at her property in less than thirty minutes by car. But, of course, apparating would be much faster." 

_ Narcissa _ . Hermione hadn't thought about his parents for a long time. Sitting across from him and hearing him speak about his mother made her feel silly for not asking about them. It also made her wish that he had brought them up before. Particularly if he was close enough with Narcissa to buy a property not too far from her. 

And then Hermione thought of Lucius, sitting in Azkaban while his family appeared to blossom in his absence. Suddenly, the man sitting across from her was no longer an international magazine mogul. He was a child, a son, who had lost family in more ways than any person--human or wizard--deserved. And she had too. 

"Was the location why you bought the property?" Hermione asked. "To be closer to her?"

Something unrecognizable flashed through Draco's eyes. If the food hadn't appeared on the table moments later, Hermione would have reached across the table for his hand. 

"I know this will make me sound like the world's worst son," Draco reached for his fork. "But she had little to do with the decision to buy this property. Like I said, it was a drunken whim."

Hermione pursed her lips, not entirely satisfied with his answer. However, rather than push him further on the matter, she let it drop and picked up her own fork. If there was one thing that Hermione knew about Draco, he didn't give up information unless he felt it necessary. And, if he didn't think his reasoning was required, who was she to force him to talk?

* * *

Draco didn't know how to tell Hermione that he'd bought the castle for her. No matter how much money he had and how little buying the property affected his cash flow, she was the type of witch who would find that kind of spending absolutely foolish. She sat across from him, hair blown about by the breeze, the sun dancing off of her cheeks, looking like an absolute dream. He wanted to argue that any man would buy anything to keep a woman like her in his life. 

Instead, he tried to steer the conversation onto topics that didn't hint at his complicated family life or his inability to express his feelings. They spent the rest of their lunch talking about little things, like the magazine and Hermione's apparent dislike for the lack of horses. 

"We can change that this week," Draco heard himself saying. "Of course, only if you wanted to."

Hermione's eyes lit up as if he'd gotten down on one knee. 

"You mean that?" She asked, holding her breath. Draco chuckled and resisted the urge to launch himself across the table and kiss her. 

"Of course," Draco said out loud. To himself, he thought  _ anything for you _ .

Hermione's fascination with Draco's affinity for horses had been part of the reason he'd bought the castle, to begin with. His love for the animals was fostered by his mother, who kept several horses at her own property. Malfoy Manor had been home to a number of the beautiful creatures before Draco's fifth year. When it became clear that the Dark Lord was returning, the family had switched their focus from a life of leisure to a life of serving him. There was little time for play when the future of the Wizarding World and Pureblood aristocracy hung in the balance. 

Sitting across from Hermione, all of the things he'd been taught growing up seemed like utter rubbish. Hermione wasn't dirty, nor was she less than--he was sure she could take him in a duel if she wanted to. And that was what he loved about her. 

Loved. 

Loved?

Yes. Draco Lucius Malfoy, the heir to the Malfoy fortune, and producer of the Wizarding World's first Male Magazine loved something about Hermione Granger. And that was a hill that he was, at least at that moment, prepared to die on. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ONLY HAVE ONE MORE FINAL AND THEN I AM DONE WITH THE SEMESTER AND DONE WITH COLLEGE AND I WILL HAVE A DEGREE OH MY GOD
> 
> yes. hello. i am alive, I am back, and I will be posting another update later this week to celebrate. that update will be filled with horse shopping and a steamy evening spent down by the lake so ;) get ready because we're leaving 2020 with a bang (if you know what I mean) 
> 
> thank you to everyone who is still reading this and checking for updates and commenting i love all of you so much and owe so much to you


	10. Falling In Love With Her

Hermione wasn’t sure what she had expected from a horse sale. Rationally, she knew that they weren’t going to a store with pictures of horses on a shelf with small price tags. You know: an order the horse in the store, have it shipped to your house kind of thing. She also rationally knew that sophisticated people would be the ones buying and selling horses, not small-town farmers with a worn-out draft horse. 

Still, the magnitude of the facility took her breath away. They hadn’t even stepped out of the Maserati and she was hyperventilating out of excitement. All of the men and women were dressed to impress, some in riding gear but others showing off their Sunday best. 

Draco, of course, blended in with the Muggles so well that Hermione was afraid she’d lose him if she wasn’t careful. He had walked out of the bathroom that morning wearing a bubblegum pink, loose-fitting button-up that looked as if it belonged on a runway. His jeans were tight fitted and slightly faded, accentuated by black books. He’d added a pair of black Ray-Bans to the ensemble as if the status of the brand meant anything to him. If Hermione was being honest, they nearly didn’t make it out of the bedroom. 

And the horses. Hermione couldn’t even begin to process the beauty that stood before her. Everywhere she looked there was another beautiful animal either being strutted to the auction area or tied up to posts or trailers. Some leisurely grazed behind fenced off areas, and mothers played with their foals when they thought no one was looking. There was every color of horse imaginable, and Hermione found herself realizing just how little she knew about them. Had she found something that Draco knew more about than her?

“Someone seems excited.” 

Entertainment was etched into every syllable that came out of Draco’s mouth. If she didn’t somewhat know him, she would have thought that he was simply being sarcastic. 

“How could I not be?” Hermione coffered her impulsive scoff with a forced chuckle. “This is one of the most incredible places I’ve ever been to.”

“Better than Chateau de Nantes?” Draco raised an eyebrow at her. She giggled and smacked him playfully on the arm, which he returned with a beaming smile. 

Draco took his time showing Hermione the ropes, and with each passing minute, he grew more breathtaking. Every time that she saw Draco out around Muggles, she waited for a snide remark or sideways glance. Perhaps he’d secretly charm someone’s hair to keep falling out, just to give himself something to laugh about. Instead, she found him speaking flawless French and navigating them expertly around the facility. When he handed her a glass of white wine, she raised an eyebrow at him. 

“These things are much more fun if you’re a bit gone.” Draco raised a pointer finger from his glass to gesture to everyone around them. If someone didn’t have a glass of wine or beer in their hands, their cheeks were red enough to show that they were most likely cut off. And it wasn’t even noon!

Finally, they made their way to the auction area. More horses of every shape, size, and color were paraded before them. The auctioneer would give a brief description of the horse: their age, size, previous awards or even bloodlines older than Hermione. One of the horses being sold could trace its parental bloodline back to a winning racehorse from the early 1900s. 

Horses were paraded and sold by the dozens, and Hermione continued to wait for Draco to raise his hand to bid on one. However, his right hand kept his wine glass to his lips while the left remained on the small of Hermione’s back. 

And then, one of the most elegant horses that Hermione had ever seen was brought before the room. A grey and black mare with warm eyes and a soft whiny was paraded to the front, her mane filled with beautiful silver ribbons. 

“And here we have a wonderful rarity,” the auctioneer said in his thick accent. “A dapple-gray Selle-Français mare!” While Hermione was focusing on keeping herself from running out into the middle of the ring, the rest of the crowd seemed to lose interest. “Five years and a proven jumper. Shall we start the bidding at a thousand euros?”

Someone to Hermione’s left coughed, but no one moved to raise their hands. Even the horse’s handler seemed unimpressed with the horse, standing beside her as if they had somewhere better to be. 

“What are you thinking?” Draco’s lips were beside her ear, his breath tickling her skin. Hermione leaned into the feeling of it. 

“I’m thinking I want that horse,” she whispered. Draco kissed her temple and then his hand was leaving her back. 

“Seven thousand euros,” Draco shouted toward the front of the room. Gasps filled the space, and the person who had coughed dropped their glass. Even the auctioneer looked as if he was ready to curl his lips back into a grimace. 

“Seven thousand euros,” he echoed, confusion ringing in every word. “Do I have anyone for seven thousand and one hundred euros?” 

More silence. Scattered coughing. Hermione was growing frustrated. Why did no one want her? 

“Sold!” The gavel hit the podium with a decisive bang, and the horse was led away. 

Draco kissed the top of Hermione’s head as she clapped to herself. She didn’t know why no one had wanted that beautiful horse, but she was pleased that the mare would be coming back with them. 

A few hours and 300,000 euros later, Hermione and Draco were heading home with six horses. All of them were Selle Français horses, whatever that meant. All that Hermione knew was that they were stunningly beautiful, and the mare was the only horse that wasn’t chestnut or bay, as Draco and the auctioneer would call it. Perhaps that was why Hermione had been so drawn to her: she was different, just like Hermione was. 

The Maserati had been temporarily transfigured into a truck with horse trailers attached. Even Hermione had been nervous to attempt such an impressive feat of magic, but Draco had done it successfully with a nonchalant flick of his wrist. Every day he showed Hermione that he was more than an aristocratic nobleman: he was a powerful wizard if there ever was one. Archie commented as much when they pulled up to the property with the horses in tow. 

“Great work, Draco,” Archie shook Draco’s hand enthusiastically when he hopped out of the truck. “I thought for sure you’d come back with at least a hundred.”

Draco threw his head back in enthusiastic laughter. That bubblegum pink shirt looked just as ironed as it had when they’d left the house, and not a single hair was out of place on his gorgeous head. 

“If it was up to Hermione, I’m sure we would have,” Draco shot her an adoring look which caused her to blush. “Although, I’m sure she would have happily gone home after the first one just as well.”

“I just don’t understand,” Hermione said for the twentieth time. “Just because she isn’t the standard color doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with her!” 

Archie raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything. The group began unloading the horses when a stable boy arrived to help them. 

“Bonjour,” he said, shaking Draco and Archie’s hands. When he faced Hermione, he offered her a professional head nod, which she returned. “Finally, some work to do around this property.” 

He busied himself with helping them move the horses to the stables and chatted excitedly the entire time. Hermione could feel Draco growing tired of the constant talking but admired the way that he smiled through each response. As soon as he had the opportunity, Draco dismissed Hermione and himself under the pretense of needing to shower and get ready for dinner. It was her idea to go for an evening ride and picnic down by the riverside, and it was he who picked her up and spun her around in enthusiastic agreement. 

* * *

Draco found it hard to believe that, before him, Hermione had never been around horses. As he watched her saddle her new horse-- _her_ horse, at _their_ castle (not that _she_ knew that)--she looked just as comfortable around a horse as she did holding a wand. A wand which was peeking out of her riding pants that she’d insisted on buying. Her hair was pulled back in a wild ponytail, and she was licking her bottom lip as she focused on tightening the stirrups. 

They had come such a long way from that first trip to Italy in 2003. He tried to push the memory of Hermione clumsily messing with a saddle for the first time, and the way that she’d nearly fallen off as quickly as she’d gotten on. This trip was different; this Hermione was different. 

“You know,” Hermione’s voice was endearingly smooth. “I think it’d be much easier if you just took a photo.”

She didn’t turn to look at him as she stepped away from the horse and nodded to herself, happy with her work. A younger Draco would have been embarrassed to be caught staring at her. However, nearly twenty-five-year-old Draco smiled at her, unashamed. 

“If I had my camera, I would have done it already.”

Hermione turned to face him then, a soft blush making its way onto her cheeks. He loved it when he caught her off guard; she looked absolutely beautiful. 

“Do you know where we’re going?” She asked, changing the subject. Draco shrugged and led his horse from its stall and out of the barn. Hermione followed, her mare following obediently. 

“No,” Draco shrugged before stepping up onto the fence. He swung his legs up and over the horse, landing comfortably in the saddle. “But, I figure getting lost with a beautiful woman in the French countryside isn’t the worst way to spend an evening.”

Hermione rolled her eyes playfully at him as she mounted her horse. With a deep breath, she set her jaw and was ready to follow him wherever he led her. Together, the two of them chased the sunset across the property and down toward the river. Hermione laughed the entire way down, purposefully showing off how good she’d gotten at riding. It reminded Draco of the first time that he’d ridden a horse: how terrified his mother had been, and how second-nature it had felt. 

As they neared the river, Draco slowed down to watch Hermione enjoy herself. He felt as if he was watching a dream unfold before him: Hermione’s golden skin glowing in the setting sun, outlined in brilliant greens and greys. She soon found a dock at the river’s edge, at the end of which was a small boat and an elegantly laid out picnic. Small lights twinkled in the growing twilight, illuminating the entire space. Two glasses, a bottle of wine, and a basket were centered on a blanket at the end of the dock. A pair of lanterns and a set of pillows rested to the left, casting shadows on a small rowboat. 

In Draco’s pocket sat two charms, one of a dragon and the other of a starling. It wasn’t an engagement ring, and it wasn’t a castle, but it was the next best thing: a way to keep him with her at all times. A way to make sure that he’d never have to stop seeing her slow her horse and practically jump off, as excited as a small child on Christmas. 

He joined her on the ground as quickly as he could, arms open before she was running into them. Draco hadn’t seen Hermione look so carefree since Italy. Again, he pushed memories of past Hermiones as far from his mind as he could. What mattered--who mattered--was the Hermione standing in front of him. He let her take him by the hand and drag him toward the blanket. 

Sometime later, the pair was delicately hidden away beneath the silver glow of the moon. Insects and birds chirped from every direction, and the horses whinnied as they grazed. Draco wasn’t focused on any of that, though. Hermione had started off on the other side of the blanket, their meal, and two glasses of wine separating them like some sort of wall. Then, without Draco quite realizing it, the food had disappeared. The sun slipped beneath the horizon, and more candles had appeared around the space. 

Draco found himself with his back against the rowboat and Hermione tucked into his left side. Her cheek rested against his collarbone, and as Draco sipped on his wine, he decided he’d like to stay on that dock forever. 

“What are you going to name your horse?” Hermione asked. It was then that Draco realized she’d been staring at them with glittering eyes, clearly proud. 

“What are you going to name yours?” He countered. Naming horses had never been something that Draco had deemed important. He’d been planning on using whatever was on the receipt from the horse sale. 

Hermione leaned back slightly to narrow her eyes at him, a wry smile on her lips. 

“Are you stalling so that you can think of a name?”

_Yes._

Draco nearly laughed. Hermione was one of the few people who had managed to understand him. She sure as hell didn’t know him--Pansy hardly knew Draco. But, Hermione had the unnerving ability to look him in his face and call him out on his bull. And she’d do it about anything, from Muggle and Wizarding Rights to naming horses. 

“Are you stalling?” Draco raised an eyebrow at her. Hermione gave him a look that said _of course I’m not stalling_. 

“Chérie,” Hermione said, not breaking eye contact. “I think it means sweetheart in French.”

For reasons unknown to him, Draco nearly teared up. Something burned in his throat, but it wasn’t sadness--it was an overwhelming feeling of warmth. And belonging. And he wanted so badly to kiss her. 

“I like it,” he responded. It seemed safer than tackling her onto the blanket. “Fitting for a _chérie_ like you.”

She rolled her eyes at him before settling back into him. Her chin pressed into his shoulder so that she could look up at him, while she abandoned the glass of wine to bring her hand to his chest. Draco’s heart beat erratically beneath her palm, and he knew she could feel it. 

“What are you going to name yours?” Hermione asked again. 

Draco would never tell Hermione, but it was such a silly question. How could he possibly think of a name for a horse while she was the only thing that he could focus on? Hermione made thinking even barely coherent thoughts almost impossible. With her sitting there curled into his side with her hands on his chest, all that he could feel was how fucking happy he was. 

How happy he was.

“Bonheur,” Draco said before he could stop himself. “It means happiness.”

“Happiness?” Hermione asked, her pointer finger tracing patterns on his collarbone. She was looking up at him, her eyes sparkling in the moonlight. A soft smile was tugging on her lips. 

“Happiness,” Draco nearly whispered. No other word could describe how he felt when she was looking at him that way: like he was something _beautiful_ , something _good_. 

He didn’t know who kissed who first. One moment they were staring at each other, slowly leaning closer, until Draco was breathing her in. The taste of her filled his lungs and sent fireworks up his spine. Hands moved on their own accord--both his and hers--slowly making their way to hair and beneath clothes. Hermione was moments away from attacking the buttons on his shirt when he pulled up for air.

“Why are you stopping?” 

Hermione’s chest was rising and falling rapidly, and her hair was beginning to fall from its ponytail. Her lips had turned into a small and quite adorable frown. Draco couldn’t help but smile down on her as he let his hand drop from her hair to land lightly on her cheek. 

“Why are you rushing?” He countered, raising an eyebrow at her. He placed a soft kiss on her nose and hoped that she wouldn’t attack him. 

“Because you’ve been teasing me all damn day,” Hermione let out a sultry laugh. He knew that laugh--she was fighting to keep her composure. “Wearing that bubblegum pink button-up like it’s legal to look that good.”

Draco blushed then. He actually blushed. Hermione was one of the most ravishing women he’d ever seen, and she was calling him a tease. Happiness was hardly enough to describe the way that he felt. 

Before he could stop himself, Drace was pulling Hermione into a deep and slow kiss. He let his tongue explore every inch of her mouth, while his hands made their way to her blouse. 

“I want to take my time with you,” Draco whispered. He undid the buttons one by one, watching her reaction as the fabric of her blouse began to fall away from her chest. “Enjoy this happiness a little bit longer.”

Slowly, he rolled them over so that she was on her back with her head resting on the pillows. She sat up with him as he pushed her blouse off her shoulders and unhooked her bra straps before he could object. The bra she tossed to the side with abandon, as if it hadn’t cost Draco over a hundred pounds for it at some silly Muggle lingerie store. Something Secret, if he could remember correctly. But, the way those mannequins were positioned in the window--nothing about that store was secret.

Hermione giggled before laying back down on the blanket. Draco pulled his own shirt off and watched with hooded eyes as she looked him up and down. He let his hands reach out to her breasts, taking each in one hand. Every time he saw her naked was like the first time: ridiculously satisfactory. He’d fantasized about her every night in the Slytherin Common Room, and even his wildest fantasies paled in comparison to the woman who allowed herself to lay beneath him on that blanket. 

Draco leaned down to capture her in one final kiss before trailing his lips down to her chest. He sucked her left nipple into his mouth as he continued to tease the other one, acutely aware of the way that Hermione moved beneath him. Her hands were on his shoulders, nails digging into skin--she wanted him lower, but he wanted to spend his time with each of her nipples. It’d been far too long since he’d given them proper attention--since he’d given her proper attention. 

Hermione’s hips bucked up to try and meet his as a soft moan escaped her lips. Need was starting to tug at him, his cock begging to be let free. Pansy had told him that tight pants were all the rage in fashion, and he felt that he’d been cheated. There was no way that men wore pants that tight on purpose around beautiful women. It made pleasuring them that much more unbearable. 

Draco returned his hand to her left nipple as his lips moved to her right. His right hand traveled down to her riding pants, rubbing at her through the material. It may have been his imagination, but Draco was sure he could feel her heat through them. She pulled at his hair and moved her hips against his hand, head thrown back. He should have brought his camera-- that was an image Draco would kill to have forever. 

He sat up in between her legs so that he could get leverage on the waistband on her pants. Hermione quickly lifted her hips up so that he could pull them off, panties included. He’d already seen the bra--the matching panties didn’t matter. None of it mattered when Hermione was laying in front of him, wet and wanting. Biting his lip to keep from assaulting her with his tongue, Draco reached out a finger to gently draw circles on her clit. She was practically dripping; he could slide into her right then and there if he wanted to. But he wanted to remember how good she tasted first. 

She watched with intense eyes as he lowered his lips onto her clit. His finger teased at her entrance, causing her to clench in anticipation. Her hands were in his hair and her legs were around his head, locking him into place. He couldn’t reach for his throbbing cock if he wanted to--he was trapped. And by Godrick if he drowned in her, at least he would die a happy man. 

“Mmm, Draco,” Hermione gave a sharp tug on his hair as she tried to pull him closer. “Yes. Yes, like that. Fuck, that’s-- _yes!_ ”

He couldn’t help but smile as he licked at her faster. Draco didn’t slide his fingers inside of her until she was gasping out his name and cumming all over his tongue. Hermione’s body shook beneath him and he kept going, two fingers scissoring and massaging against _that_ spot. 

And then, Hermione was locking her hands in his hair and pulling him up to kiss her. For a brief moment, he regretted letting his hair get that long. She was a stronger witch than anyone gave her credit for, and it made it that much easier for her to pull him around. If he was any less of a man, he might have felt intimidated. 

Instead, it brought back that odd, warm but stinging feeling from before. He felt proud that she could yank him around on that blanket if she wanted. For once, Draco had found an equal. Not only was she damn smart and a proper witch, but she was also a woman who was strong enough to see what she wanted and reach for it with no second guesses. 

Hermione frowned when he pulled away again, gasping for air and a clear headspace. She was dizzying and maddening. How was he supposed to focus on pleasuring her when all that he wanted to do was collapse onto her and… cry? Out of happiness? 

“You’re thinking,” Hermione whispered. She placed a soft peck on his chin and smiled. Her hands ran their way from his hair to his shoulders and then his arms, where they slowly moved up and down. Was she sexually comforting him? “I’ve never seen you think when you have sex.”

Draco couldn’t help but let out a snort and roll his eyes at her. She beamed up at him, pleased that her joke was accepted as intended. 

“I…”

Every inch of Hermione was absolute perfection. Sweat had begun to collect on her temples and slide down her cheeks to her neck with every scattered breath that she took. Every muscle in her body was tensing and then relaxing, moving beneath him in utter harmony to the way his body moved with hers. 

_I love you_ , was what Draco wanted to say. _I’m falling in love with you._

“I--Can I--” Draco took a steadying breath, not sure what he was really asking for. She blinked up at him, and he swore he was going to faint. “Iwanttomakelovetoyou.”

He forced the words out as quickly as he could and then closed his eyes, not wanting to see her reaction. Draco waited for the sensation of her pushing him away from her and the sounds of her retreating feet as she made her way back to the castle. He was sure she’d laugh at him--think he was an absolute fool for saying something that stupid. 

Instead, he felt her sit up so that their foreheads were touching. She kissed him softly, her soft hand once again finding his heart beneath his chest. When he opened his eyes, their eyelashes almost got tangled. She was that close. 

“You can’t make love to me with your pants on.”

Draco’s only thought as he stood to take off his pants was that he should have bought a ring. Hermione dropped her hands to the pillows beside her face and turned her head as she looked up at him. He didn’t know why he hadn’t plastered her face on the cover and every page of his magazine. Her hair was fanned out around her face as if an art director had placed it there, loose curls coming down to dance over her chest. 

Hermione watched him as he undid his belt and tossed it (accidentally) into the rowboat. She bit at her lip when he slid his pants to the ground. A soft moan escaped her lips when he kicked his pants and boxers to the side. 

Falling back down into her touch and lips was the easiest thing that Draco had ever done. Her hands were in his hair and her hips were rolling up to meet him as if they were two halves of one whole, joining together and finally completing the puzzle that had been Draco’s first quarter-century of life. After a few slow thrusts, Hermione was gasping as his full length slid into her. Her head rolled back against the pillows and he watched with hungry eyes. 

Draco took his time, slowly pulling back until he was nearly out of her before entering her again. She was whispering his name into the candlelight, pulling on his hair and leading him into one of the scariest orgasms of his life. Not scary because it was too intense or something that he wasn’t comfortable with--scary because he wasn’t sure what would happen to them when they came back down to earth. 

He let them lose themselves in the feeling of each other, and the scent of Hermione and the French countryside. Together they went higher than they ever had; somehow surpassing even their wildest night together with just a few deep and slow rolls of his hips. She was kissing him as if her life depended on it, and Draco was holding her as if he thought she would float away. 

* * *

Draco had never fallen asleep on Hermione before. When they had finished, he hadn’t rolled off of her the way he had always done. Instead, he’d practically melted into her arms, his cheek resting on her collarbone and never leaving. One of his arms was tucked between them, while the other lounged gracefully across her stomach. She was thinking that he looked quite handsome that way when something silver glittered in her peripheral vision. 

His pants had been kicked halfway down the dock, but two objects had fallen out of his pockets with the movement. Hermione could just make out two small charms, one of a dragon and the other some kind of bird. They reminded her of the greyhound charm that Pansy had accidentally let Hermione see at the cafe. 

Hermione glanced down at Draco’s relaxed features, taking in just how peaceful he looked. Years of stress and war had melted from his cheekbones, relaxing the muscles around his lips. She didn’t know if it was the angle in which he was laying, or if his lips were naturally that pouty, but she decided she liked it better than his signature smirk. The smirk was playful and sexy--the pout accentuated just how strong his cupid’s bow was. 

Between Draco sleeping peacefully in her arms, and the thought that maybe that second charm was for her, Hermione wasn’t sure that she’d be able to fall asleep. How could she relax when the man resting in her arms had whisked her away to the French countryside and asked to make love to her?

Draco Lucius Malfoy was an enigma. He was a rich aristocrat; a pureblood wizard; a magazine tycoon; and, he was a softer man than Hermione had thought he could be. 

Questions and insecurities bubbled up in the back of her mind, but Hermione worked to push them from thought. Perhaps things would be different when they went back to England. Draco could easily go back to his magazine, and Hermione to the Ministry and their tense what-the-hell-is-this could very well continue. Only, Hermione didn’t want it to continue. She wanted to stay right there on that dock, safely within the castle grounds, holding Draco in her arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> these fools give me the most anxiety and I almost can't stand it
> 
> however, I don't know what else i'd do with my time except spend hours agonizing over each and every (dumb) word that comes out of draco's mouth


	11. Kiss Her, You Fool

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS CHAPTER IS DEDICATED TO MYTHALGIVESYOUDREAMS BECAUSE 1 SHE INSPIRED THIS CHAPTER BUT 2 SHE IS SICK RIGHT NOW AND I CAN'T LET HER BE SICK AND NOT HAVE ANY OF THIS STORY TO READ. MORE APOLOGIES WILL BE AT THE END OF THIS CHAPTER.

The next morning, Draco found himself still in bed well after 11 am. He sipped at his tea and read that morning's _Daily Prophet_ while Hermione rested diagonally across the bed with her head in his lap. She was still naked and looking every inch an absolute beauty--making reading the paper every bit as tricky as it was to accept that he was in love with her. 

"Want to know what I was thinking?" Hermione asked. She was staring up at the ceiling, twirling loose curls around her finger. 

"I always want to know what you're thinking," Draco answered. It was the truth; he wanted to know every little thought that made its way through her mind. 

Hermione smiled at his words, tearing her eyes away from the ceiling to gaze up at him. The only thing that he wanted more than to hear her speak was to pull her into a kiss that both of them could drown in. 

"This would be the perfect castle for a garden party."

 _A garden party?_ Hermione Granger, lying naked in his lap, was asking for a garden party. Was Draco dead?

"A--?" 

Hermione cut him off before he could finish. 

"Garden party."

Her tone was blunt, and there was little hint of a joke in her expression. She looked a bit dangerous, as if she'd curse Draco right back to Britain if he said no. 

"What's the occasion?"

Draco leaned back into the four pillows pressed against the mahogany headboard. He closed his eyes and hoped to Godrick that she wasn't attempting to throw him a birthday party. Every year since his birth, Narcissa and Pansy conspired to throw him a party. The themes varied from A Night in Madagascar to A Night in the Underground. Draco wasn't sure which he hated more: lemurs and brilliantly colored birds taking up all Malfoy Manor, or smoke effects, and creepy actors hid in hallways and bathrooms. He hadn't even escaped a birthday party in 1998--mere months after Harry ended the Second Wizarding War, and ages before Draco and his mother were able to step foot in public, Narcissa and Pansy were throwing him a small dinner at the Manor. 

"Your birthday."

Hermione let a bright smile take up most of her expression. Draco, naturally, wanted to vomit and then melt into the bedframe. How could one witch be so compelling and so anxiety-inducing at the same time?

"Why do I need a garden party for my birthday?" 

Draco tried to keep his voice light, not wanting to give away his true feelings. If he played it cool, he might be able to talk Hermione out of it. Maybe. Hopefully. 

"Are you saying," Hermione sat up and turned to face him, raising her right eyebrow. "You can't have a party without alcohol and strippers?" 

Before he could stop himself, Draco was laughing. Hermione laughed with him but maintained more of her composure. There was no way that he felt anything less than infatuation for the woman sitting before him. 

"They aren't strippers," was all that he managed to get out as he tried to stifle his laughter. 

"They're essentially strippers."

"Regardless, I didn't think you'd be into that kind of thing. You know," Draco shook his copy of the Prophet in a dismissive gesture, "schmoozing your way around a room, in a tailored gown, enchanting the entire--actually, a garden party sounds quite nice."

Hermione rolled her eyes as Draco's look of slight disgust made way to an expression overflowing with enthusiasm at the prospect of a garden party. He raised an eyebrow at her subtle mockery of his newfound interest in fairy lights, teacups, and clothes that are too tight to be comfortable. Through childhood, right up until five minutes ago, Draco had despised everything about hosting parties. He allowed Theo and Blaise to throw extravagant parties at the mansion so that he could have an excuse to indulge in excess. Allowing your childhood mates to throw wild evenings filled with sex and drugs was different from willingly participating in throwing a birthday garden party with a woman who wasn't Pansy or his mom. Emphasis on willingly. 

Questions began to buzz through Draco's mind faster than a snitch. He would have to find a caterer, a decorator, musicians, servers, invitations. Had the two of them even packed anything that would pass as garden party appropriate? Not that it would matter much for Hermione. She could show up wearing nothing except a curtain tossed over her shoulders, and she would look stunning. 

"What're you thinking about?"

Hermione's voice pulled Draco from his thoughts. He chanced a look at her face, and their eyes met; without thinking, Draco shifted so that he could reach out to touch her cheek.

"I'm thinking about how we can pull a garden party together in just a few days."

Their lips and bodies pressed together before Draco even knew what happened. Hermione pushed him backward with such force that he easily went down; she giggled when they finished falling. 

"I'll have to owl Pansy straight away," she said, pulling back to stare down at him. Her hands rested on either side of his face, her thumbs brushing gently against his temples. "I'm sure she's had enough event planning experience."

Rather than be surprised that Hermione's first order of business would be to owl Pansy, Draco saw it as an opportunity to do something he'd meant to do the night before. He cleared his throat and motioned for Hermione to sit up, which she obliged with a curious look on her face. 

"Speaking of sending owls," Draco started, unsure of how to segway into actually handing her the charm. He felt as if he was asking for her hand in marriage: nerve-wracked. When he asked Hermione to close her eyes, she immediately smiled and stuck out her right hand. Part of him assumed she already knew what it was, which made getting up to retrieve it from his pants pocket a bit easier. "I think you might find good use out of this." 

Draco placed the charm in the palm of her hand and waited. He had thought out a myriad of different ways to present the charm to her; in one daydream, he'd gone so far as to hide it at the bottom of a lake and somehow manage to get her down there still breathing. However, he'd never let himself think about how she would react.

"It looks so much prettier up-close," Hermione breathed. She turned the charm over in her hand, looking at it from every angle. A soft chuckle escaped her lips as she ran her fingers over the bird's small wing. "I'd thought it would be a phoenix or another kind of magical bird. But, it's just a starling." 

Old Draco would have felt slightly off-put that she'd expected something so thoughtless and straightforward from him. He knew more about the world than just magic. 

"You say _just a starling_ as if they're nothing more than a silly songbird," Draco's lips tugged up in a half-smile. She was smiling too. "The Romans used to watch their flight patterns as signs from the gods, and the ancient Celts that founded Britain held respect for them as magical beings."

"I forgot that the Malfoys had been around almost as long as Britain herself." Hermione leaned up to place a soft peck on his cheek. "How does it work?"

Draco retrieved his charm from the floor and explained the workings of the charms to her. Within minutes, Hermione kissed him on the forehead and picked up one of Draco's shirts from the floor. 

"Pansy?" Hermione smiled wryly at Draco as she began to close the bathroom door. He couldn't hear Pansy's response, but he did manage to experience a few seconds of Hermione's laughter before the door slid shut. 

* * *

Hermione could feel Draco staring at her from the doorway to the bathroom. She was staring at herself in the floor-length mirror, turning to look at her body from different angles. Pansy had outdone herself with arriving in France at a moment's notice to help Hermione throw everything together. They even had a surprise that even Draco wouldn't expect, hiding out on the patio. But, they wouldn't be making their way down for another twenty minutes or so; he was still in the process of getting ready. He'd stopped halfway through, making sure his tie was in place to stare at her in silence. 

Rather than opting for the traditional cocktail dress, Hermione and Pansy had found a modest, white lace top at a boutique in some hillside shopping district. An emerald green skirt came up to nearly Hermione's navel, pulling the top close to her body and accentuating her curves. The trials and tribulations of her early twenties had left her with a nicely toned body that, sometimes, Hermione wished she appreciated more. 

"I should have brought my camera," Draco said, a flirtatious smile on his lips. Hermione turned to face him, returning a similarly playful expression. 

"Pansy and I took the liberty of making sure we had it today," Hermione walked over to the mahogany dresser in the corner of the room. She opened the top drawer and pulled out her bottomless pouch, inside which hid his camera. "It's not a proper party if there aren't pictures to remember it by."

Draco crossed the room quickly and took the camera from her hands. It was an adapted version of a muggle digital camera that Draco had procured sometime during his years out of the public eye. He had brought it on most of their previous trips around the world, and Hermione hadn't realized how much she missed it in his hands until he was pointing the lens in her direction. A photograph slipped out of the bottom of the camera, and Draco held it up to the light. 

"You're stunning," he said before setting the picture down on his bedside table. He smiled down at the picture for a beat longer before setting the camera down beside it. "I don't know how we're supposed to make it down there when you look like that."

Draco was lunging at her and, before she could stop him, Hermione was being picked up and spun around. She laughed and held on to his shoulders for stability even though she knew he would never let her fall. 

"If you throw me on this bed, I'll cry," Hermione stared down at him, feeling as if she was on top of the world. "I worked too hard on my makeup to have it ruined."

"Even by someone as charming and good-looking as me?" Draco raised a playful eyebrow at her. 

"You can use your charms to mess up my makeup when the guests have left," Hermione reached a hand out to cup his cheek. He was alarmingly handsome, staring up at her as he held her miles above the earth. "Does that sound like a deal?"

"It sounds like a compromise," Draco gingerly set Hermione down and pulled back to rest his arms around her waist. Her hands fell to his chest, and they stood like that for what felt like an eternity. "And I don't compromise for many people, Hermione."

"You can complain about how brilliant the party was after you've ravaged me," she laughed. "Now, fix your tie and grab your jacket. We can't be late for _your_ party." 

Begrudgingly, Draco did as she commanded. Hermione watched in adoration as he made a show of fixing his tie and adjusting his hair in the mirror. It had grown to his shoulders and rested along the collar of his shirt, making her toes tingle. The grey suit clung to every inch of Draco's lean frame the same way she had the night before. Everything about the man before her was composed and exquisite. If she had less self-control, they would not be meeting up with the rest of the party for at least a few hours. 

When he finally turned to face her, Hermione reached out her hand for him to take. Draco picked up the camera and joined her, looking a mix of nervous and excited. 

"You said there was a surprise for me down there?" He asked as if he had a choice about attending. 

"A rather good one." Hermione smiled up at him. 

Draco nodded and allowed her to lead him into the hallway. They made their way down the main stairwell into the heart of the chateau, already bustling with house-elves and guests. Pansy, naturally, was standing at the base of the stairs waiting for them with her clipboard in hand. 

"Well, don't the two of you look dashing," Pansy beamed at them. Draco dropped Hermione's hand to wrap Pansy up in a hug that lifted the witch off the ground a few centimeters. Hermione couldn't help but swoon at the sight of Draco having the potential to enjoy the afternoon. "Hermione, you sure know how to throw a party."

Hermione blushed and allowed Draco to slip his hand back into hers. 

"Don't be so humble, Pans."

"So I was told that there was a surprise?" Draco looked around the foyer, which had been strategically left empty. The table for gifts was out on the patio with the majority of the party. But, the surprise didn't require gift wrapping. 

"All in good time," Pansy chided Draco as if he was a small child. "Now, make your rounds like a good host. I have to make sure the caterer is on schedule."

Pansy kissed both of them goodbye on the cheek and then disappeared into the crowd. Draco chuckled to himself and seemed to relax into the upbeat energy filling up the castle. 

"Alright," Draco nodded for Hermione to walk toward the french doors leading to the patio. "Go ahead and show me off to everyone."

Hermione placed a purposeful kiss on his lips before leading him toward the party. All of the windows were wide open to let in the springtime sunshine and breeze, lifting every room and hallway in the castle. 

Hermione and Pansy had transformed the patio into a floral wonderland on the other side of the french doors. Draco stopped in the doorway as he took in the scene before him: servers in black suits making their way through a small group of witches and wizards dressed to the nines and chatting excitedly. Iron patio tables, topped with floating lantern centerpieces, decorated the terrace. Along the far wall was a buffet table, void of food for the time being, with a small band set up to its left. The bar was next to the steps leading down to the gardens, spruced up just in the knick of time. 

"Well, look who it is!" Hermione nearly tripped over nothing at the sound of Theodore's voice. "The birthday boy!" 

Theodore sported a simple white button-up with a light pink tie and black slacks. He swirled the whiskey around his glass as he stared at them with a slight smirk to his expression. 

"Happy birthday, Draco," Theodore lifted his glass to Draco as if to offer a toast. "And congratulations on such a lovely party, Hermione. I didn't know you had it in you."

Hermione wasn't sure who was tenser, herself or Draco. They had each other's hands in a death grip as if letting go would mean a certain lunge for a wand. 

"You're not the only one who can come up with a guest and drink list."

The words sounded good when Hermione heard herself say them, so she went with it. Draco snorted to himself while Theodore looked slightly offended. 

"While all of that sounds like a lovely conversation," Pansy was appearing behind them within moments. The sensation of her hands on their backs allowed Draco and Hermione to relax slightly. "I must steal the two of them away. Can't have them spending all of their time with one guest."

"Of course," the corners of Theodore's thin-lipped smile faltered slightly. "Enjoy yourselves."

He leaned down into a dramatic bow before turning his back to them and heading toward a group of wizards to make conversation. Pansy quickly redirected Draco's attention to the surprise, and his reaction was more than appreciative. 

Standing beside the bar was Narcissa, dressed in a beautiful mint green skirt and suit jacket combo. Her white heels accentuated the figure that she'd kept well into womanhood, and she looked every bit a dream. It had been years since Hermione had last seen Narcissa, and the woman standing before her didn't seem to be the same woman who had stood trial for war crimes. 

Love, Hermione always imagined, hadn't existed in the Malfoy home. Whenever she tried to picture Draco's childhood and teenage years, she imagined him alone in a cold and unforgiving home. But, the mother and son embracing before her loved and depended on one another. Thinking of her parents, Hermione let herself be filled with the feeling of parents and children being able to embrace one another. 

"And, my goodness," Narcissa turned to face Hermione. "What a wonderful woman you have grown into, Ms. Granger. I must say, I'm impressed."

"Oh, thank you," Hermione blushed. "Really, the credit for the party goes to Pansy."

Narcissa scoffed and waved Hermione's comment off with a flick of her wrist before taking a sip from her champagne flute. When her eyebrow raised with the tell-tale slyness that only Slytherins could pull off, it only confirmed that all of them were capable of that expression. 

"I'm not talking about the party, dear," Narcissa seemed almost entertained at the idea that she could be impressed with just a simple party. "I hear you're up to amazing things at the Ministry. I think that helping change the justice system to make it more fair and progressive could help bring about all kinds of societal change."

Time froze. Hermione had never felt so seen but so scared in her life. Coming face to face with the Dark Lord had been nothing compared to Narcissa staring at her and drawing attention to work that Hermione felt no one noticed. 

"I--"

"What?" 

Draco was on the same wavelength as Hermione. Both of them stared at Narcissa, absolutely dumbfounded. 

"Are you not going to take the position?" Narcissa sipped on her champagne innocently, as if she hadn't just outed Hermione's potential career change at Draco's birthday party. 

"What position?" Draco asked, staring between the two women as if they were speaking a foreign language. 

"I'm sure Hermione will tell you all about it when she decides whether to accept or not," Narcissa set her glass down. "She seems rather undecided right now."

Hermione could hear Pansy giggling somewhere in the distance, which was strange because Pansy was standing right next to her. How was Pansy so close, but her voice was so far away?

"Well, enough about that," Narcissa continued, unphased by the chaos she had so skillfully created. "Allow me to introduce you to someone. This is Jean Leon, and we've recently bought a new chateau in Southern France together."

That was when they noticed the rather handsome and noble-looking man standing beside Narcissa. Draco looked as if he was ready to fall over; Hermione felt that she could handle this conversation better than the previous. She reached out her hand, which Jean Leon took, and delicately kissed her knuckles. 

"A pleasure," Jean Leon smiled at them. "Nice to meet you, Draco. I've heard a lot about you."

"Oh," Hermione thought seriously about finding Draco a chair. "Lovely. I'm sure she's told you some great stories. Lovely times, my mother and I have had. Funny, you said you bought a what?"

Narcissa openly laughed. 

"A new chateau," she repeated. "We also got a dog, but I didn't think you'd care to know that."

Hermione watched the rest of the conversation unfold, delightfully entertained for the entirety of it. As she stood before them, Narcissa was a woman who knew her way around a gentleman caller. The freeness with which she seemed to move was personalities away from the woman she had been before; it was evident that the absence of Lucius had allowed both mother and son to grow. So, it was only natural Narcissa would find another man she deemed appropriate enough to buy a chateau and a dog with. Hermione didn't see anything wrong with that. 

Draco, however, spent much of the afternoon glancing over at the new couple and looking ready to run away. It wasn't that he didn't like him, Draco insisted. Just that he was sure, he'd meet his mother's future whatever before they did something crazy like buying a dog. He ignored the chateau altogether when stressing about it while the waitstaff set up the buffet tables, which Hermione found quite cute. 

Dinner went by without a hitch, and by sunset, everyone was happily drunk and satisfied. Pansy announced that it was finally time for cake and presents, which Draco seemed to hate even more than the idea of his mother and Jean Leon. Still, he dutifully sat before everyone and opened each of the gifts, giving appropriate _oohs_ and _ahs_ at gifts that, truthfully, were perfect for him. He made it out with six new watches, a new suit, business robes, and a decent-sized investment from an old friend Hermione didn't recognize. 

Before everyone sang happy birthday, Pansy announced that it was time for a round of toasts to "everyone's favorite stick in the mud." Pansy went first, naturally, and gave a fantastic monologue about how everyone had expected them to fall in love, and she was happy that they hadn't. 

"Not that I don't love you," Pansy made sure to clarify. "But the idea of waking up next to you every day gives me chills. I don't know how Hermione does it."

Everyone laughed at her joke except for Hermione, who grew beet red in the twinkling fairy lights twinkling overhead. No one seemed shocked that Pansy insinuated that there was anything serious between Draco and Hermione; even Draco himself winked at her at the comment. Did he want something more? 

Blaise got up next, his composed demeanor a sharp contrast to Pansy's wine-fueled speech. He lifted his whiskey glass out to Draco and thanked him for being his closest and longest friend and ally. He also said he was happy that Draco and Pansy hadn't ended up together. 

"Because if you had," Blaise looked down at Pansy. "We wouldn't be engaged right now."

Cheers and congratulations rained down from everyone in attendance. Pansy excitedly thrust her left hand into the air and showed off an enormous ring, glittering wonderfully in the twilight. She stared at Draco and winked, which only heightened Hermione's hunch that everyone else knew something she didn't. 

"Pansy told me she wanted to rub it in when you got back from this trip," Blaise laughed. "But I'll never turn down an opportunity to one-up you. Even on your birthday."

Everyone raised their glasses with Blaise as he toasted to Draco's twenty-fifth and sat back down. Next up was Narcissa, who kept her speech short and to the point. She left out any mentions of love or engagements, merely opting to show her pride in the man Draco had become. 

Then, everyone turned to look at Hermione. What had once been a group of only around thirty people suddenly felt like a Ministry event with hundreds of professionals, all staring at Hermione and waiting for her to say something intelligent.

She cleared her throat before trying to stand up as gracefully as possible. 

* * *

As he sat at the main table on the patio and let the summer breeze tangle its way through his hair, Draco thought that his life wasn't all that bad. Sure, Theodore had somehow made it to the party and hadn't taken his eyes off of Hermione the entire afternoon. And, of course, his mother had brought some random French wizard and introduced him as her... _co-dog owner_. But, Hermione had thrown together a great party, and all of his favorite people had been in attendance. As far as birthday parties went, his twenty-fifth was probably the best one yet. 

Pansy's speech had made Draco laugh. Blaise's toast made him happy to have chosen him as a friend. And Narcissa's was the same recycled toast that all mothers give their sons on birthdays. But then Hermione was standing up. 

She seemed to tower over him in her heels, her hair flowing over her shoulders and clothing fitting to her skin like he did. If she was nervous, no one could tell: she stood tall with her shoulders back and surveyed the crowd before her. 

"Everyone else has already said what I could," Hermione started. "I'm happy that you and Pansy never fell in love. I wouldn't be standing here today if you did."

The crowd chuckled, and Draco reached out to take her hand in his. She squeezed at his hand in thanks. If anything, Draco supposed, he could keep her steady for as long as she was willing to rely on him. 

"Also, congratulations to Blaise and Pansy," she continued after taking a deep breath. "You guys are wonderful, and I'm excited for what I'm sure will truly be the wedding of the century." 

All eyes were on Hermione, and Draco couldn't help but get lost in her beauty and composure with everyone else. If he had less self-control, Draco would drop to his knees and beg for her right then and there. 

"I'm sure everyone knows that, if someone had told me seven years ago that I'd be standing here today, I would have laughed in their face," Hermione smiled. "I would have told you that I wouldn't be alive at all. But, for whatever happy reason, not only am I alive, but I'm here in the company of people who are more loyal and caring than I ever could have imagined."

"We love you!" Pansy screamed. Narcissa whooped in agreement and lifted her glass. 

"And, Draco," Hermione turned to face him then, and like every time she looked at him, everything melted away. There was no party, no music, no drunken Pansy getting ready to cry on Blaise's shoulder at how beautiful everything was. It was just the two of them--just Draco and Hermione. "I'm so happy that whatever happy reason brought me here, brought me to you. You've accomplished so much, and I've been privileged enough to see you go from an obscure magazine publisher to an international publication in a matter of years. And nothing that I do at the Ministry can compare the work and dedication that you've given not only to the magazine and your friends but to yourself. And I can only hope that I can be here to celebrate more birthdays and more issues of _Disrobed_ with you in the future."

Everyone clapped, and someone even patted Draco on his shoulder from behind. Something burned in his throat--pride? Tears? Draco wasn't sure. He just knew that the same feeling he'd felt at the dock was bursting inside of his chest again, trying to claw its way out. 

"Kiss her, you fool!" 

It was Narcissa's time to yell, and Draco didn't need to be told twice. To hell with self-control. 

With all of that feeling that he had, Draco stood and wrapped Hermione in his arms and kissed her. He kissed her as if he would never get the chance again, and he kissed her to show everyone there exactly which woman, witch, goddess he wanted for all of those future birthdays and magazine issues. 

When they finally broke apart, the two of them stared at each other the same way that they had hours before in the bedroom. Her hands rested on his heartbeat, and he was sure that she could sense just how much of that feeling he had inside. Maybe she felt it too. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay wow. two months is 0 excuse. but this chapter gave me 87 headaches trying to start it, but once I did. boy did those words fly and those edits make this less awful. i hope that you guys enjoy this chapter! more drama and intrigue will follow so stay tuned ;)
> 
> also, some of you may notice that I changed the charm from a phoenix to a starling. i went back to the previous chapter and changed it there too; I agreed with Hermione, the phoenix was overdone and super basic. draco and I apologize for our short-sightedness.


End file.
